


Just Like Heaven

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: Just Say Lass [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And then also rough sex, Banter, Cultural Differences, Dirty Talk, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Getting to Know Each Other, Gratuitous Smut, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I accidentally lied when I said light angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Le Smut Have Arriveth, Light Angst, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mutual Pining, OC is a Hot Mess, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Praise Kink, Protective Rylen, Romance, Romantic Rylen, Roommates, Rylen Gets Sent to Earth, Rylen POV, SO MUCH BANTER, Slow Burn, Spanking, Sweet sweet lovemaking, TGiM, THIS FIC IS PURE CRACK, Thedas Guy in Modern, Thedas Guy on Earth, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, crazy tags, occasionally heavyish angst, unresolved sexual tension until it gets resolved, very little to do with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 140,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: Knight-Captain Rylen just wanted to do what he could to help defend the innocent people of Thedas - especially when the sky split open and demons started falling out of the Fade.When he somehow ends up in a place called Earth, instead, he has to come to terms with every part of his strange new reality - including the fascinating woman, Abigail, who finds him and helps save his life.





	1. A Bad Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just have to write something because it's pure fun - and I just couldn't resist this fic! So have some reverse MGiT - also known at TGiM. We're going to have some fun with Abby backstory and Rylen figuring out Earth - and them falling in love too, of course.
> 
> Huge shout out (or call out) to my enablers - I mean, good friends - who encouraged me to write this - looking at you, [WindySuspirations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/pseuds/WindySuspirations), [Ladymdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc/pseuds/ladymdc), and [Kagetsukai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagetsukai/pseuds/Kagetsukai). Love to you all, and go check them out!
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

Demons raining from the sky, green tears in the air, and not enough men to deal with it all. The Inquisition wasn’t equipped to deal with this madness, not when it looked like the end of all of Thedas.

Maker, it did look like the end of the world.

But Rylen hardly had time to register what was going on. All he knew was that there were demons in front of him and innocents behind him, and so he kept swinging his sword. Exhaustion had seeped into his bones and every swing took more and more effort each time.

He couldn’t stop, no matter how much his muscles screamed for a break, no matter how each breath tore through his lungs like a dagger. He was shaking, struggling to breathe, pushing himself harder and harder each time.

A deep breath, ignoring the pain it caused him, the smell of smoke and burning flesh, of sweat, blood, and battle. A shake of his arm, gripping his sword more tightly, not allowing his fingers to loosen like they wanted to, not allowing himself to drop the weapon that stood between demons and Haven. A blink of his eyes, and then another, followed by another, trying to blink out the exhaustion, the stinging from the smoke in the air and the sweat running down his face.

He needed to see, he needed to be able to focus. His voice was hoarse when he yelled commands, his throat raw and aching with each roar of effort, each grunt of exhaustion as his sword made contact yet again with leathery, dark grey skin.

He had fought demons since he was a lad, this was no different. Focus on the one in front, and then move on to the next. Don’t think about the hole in the sky, the swirling green vortex, the chunks of Thedas and the Temple floating up to be swallowed in the maelstrom.

One demon, and then the next.

“Captain – they just keep coming!”

“Aye lad – so send them back to the Voids they came from!” he roared, his voice hoarse and raspy from what had to be a day’s worth of yelling.

A cry sounded from nearby, and he turned his head instinctively. It was a cry of fear, of pain, and sure enough one of the nearest soldiers was about to be overwhelmed, backed into a rock, his shield thrown uselessly to the side as if it had been knocked out of his hand.

He was young, just a lad.

Andraste’s tits, this was all they had, just young lads to fight what seemed to be the wrath of the Maker himself.

Rylen charged without thinking twice, determined to put his shield between the demon and the young soldier. They were closer to the rift, the one that had opened and was letting all manner of creature claw their way into the blood soaked snow outside Haven.

The tall Terror Demon advancing on the lad raised its spiky arm, readying one of its long, thorny claws to attack. Rylen had hardly a breath of a moment, but he lunged forward and threw his shield up to block the blow.

The impact rattled him, a shout escaping his throat as he felt his shoulder buckle and pop loudly, immediately followed by tightness before unbearable pain blossomed throughout his arm. His shield fell uselessly to the snow beside him and he blinked, trying to clear his vision from the pain.

“P-Petyr, run,” he gritted out, trying to lift his sword. The soldier behind him bolted, running away from the rock he had been pinned against.

A roar accompanied his every action as he managed to lift his sword and swing it, venting his anger and pain on the demon before him. It was stumbling back, and he drove forward, plunging his sword into the foul beast's chest now that it was exposed.

His feet slipped and slid in the snow, but he couldn’t catch himself. One arm incapacitated, the other trying to maintain its grip on his sword, and the demon falling backwards as it collapsed in defeat. With a startled cry he felt himself falling, but the world tilted, like he was being thrown up and not down, everything swirling as bright green light temporarily blinded him.

The sound of battle was instantly drowned out, replaced instead by silence, and the sound of him slamming into the ground.

He groaned and released his sword, trying to push himself up with his one good arm. When he got to his feet and looked around, though, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened.

_Where in Voids am I?_

The green light that had blinded him still tinted everything in his sight, and black smoke was swirling in what had to be the sky. But he was upside down – or was he right side up?

Nothing made sense, and he tried to take a few steadying breaths. His shoulder was still taking up much of his focus, and he noticed a stinging pain in his side as well, an ache in his head. He was more than a little battle-worn, of that much he was certain. What he was less certain of was how he got here.

“Blasted…the Fade,” he muttered to himself, turning on the spot as he tried to gather his wits.

The demon had fallen back, had dragged him with him into the Fade itself. He shouldn’t be here, no mortal man should be here. Yet he was standing in the middle of the raw Fade, torn from the face of Thedas in the middle of chaos and likely the end of the world.

He had to get back.

Staggering forward he wrapped his hand around the grip of his sword and pulled, yanking it out of the demon and grimacing at the green blood coating the blade. Pain was still racing through him, more parts of him aching and stinging than he could count or focus on. He’d need a healer, once he got back.

If he could get back.

He took a deep, steadying breath as he looked around. The tear in the air that he had fallen through seemed to have closed behind him, or at least wasn’t accessible from this end.

_Blast it._

Another deep breath and he turned on the spot again, slowly this time, trying to see anything helpful, anything familiar. His eyes scanned the craggy, rocky surroundings, and he slowly made his way forward and down what should have been the wall, so that he could finally stand on what seemed to be the ground.

Everything was topsy-turvy.

Slowly he began to make his way forward, determined to try to find a way back. He tightened his grip on his sword, even though his fingers protested and his arm shook under the weight. The Fade would mean demons, and he needed to be ready, his injured shoulder be damned.

Somehow, he didn’t encounter any. No one else, not a soul – or rather, not a spirit or a demon, was in sight. Instead he was surrounded by eerie silence and his crunching footsteps as he wound along the path.

Ahead of him he finally spotted something, the telltale hint of shimmering green.

Perhaps it was the way back, perhaps this was where the portal had ended up. He hurried forward, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side, his right arm tightening on his sword. If that was the way back, then battle was awaiting him on the other side.

He steadied himself with another deep breath, burying the trepidation and anxiety he felt as he got closer and closer to the rift. It was loud, he could hear beyond it, but he couldn’t quite make out the different noises. It could be battle, but it sounded like a different sort of chaos.

For a moment he stared at the rift, unable to see anything beyond it except darkness. Another deep breath, another tightening of his aching fingers around his sword, and he slowly began to walk forward, through the shimmering green light.

A cacophony of noise, bright white lights blinding him, and a screeching noise followed by what sounded like a blaring wail greeted him on the other side of the rift.

But nothing that sounded like battle.

“Hey! Get out of the road, tin man!”

Rylen looked from left to right, trying to determine where he was and who was shouting at him. Nothing looked familiar. It was nighttime, and he felt fairly certain it had been daytime in the snowy mountains surrounding Haven. But even though the sky was dark, he was surrounded by lights. Bright, painful lights, obscuring everything in his vision.

“Hey asshole, I’m talkin’ to you! Move it!”

He stumbled, trying and failing to orient himself as he looked around. The ground was black with lines painted on it, and he was facing –

“Maker, I’ve gone batty,” he muttered under his breath as his eyes roamed over the large metal something that was sitting in front of him.

It seemed to be some sort of carriage, but it was all flashy yellow metal and glass. He could see a man sitting in it, one hand on a black wheel, and the other was clenched in a fist except for his second finger, which he was gesturing wildly at Rylen.

Was this some form of greeting?

The man wasn’t wearing armor, in fact, no one that he could see was. There were no demons, no battles, nothing but bright lights and people staring at him as if frightened or wary.

The other thing that was missing was the telltale shimmer of green light that had accompanied the rifts. However he had just managed to make it here, he didn’t immediately see a way back into the Fade or to that battleground outside of Haven. Wherever _here_ was, he couldn’t see an easy way to leave it.

Instinctively he moved away from the large yellow metal carriage and toward the nearest building. There were so many people, so many lights, as if this city never slept. Where in Thedas was he?

The buildings were tall, gargantuan, almost, and when he followed one with his eyes it made him dizzy when he saw how close it came to touching the stars and the –

 _One_ moon?

Where was the other?

He couldn’t see any constellations or stars, nothing familiar to guide his way, and only one moon where there should have been two.

Maker, maybe he really had gone batty.

Staggering further along, he ignored the looks he was receiving, the gasps and mutterings that were following him. Perhaps if he walked further, just like in the Fade, he’d find another rift.

He had to get back.

Building after building, so many tall lights, and the sickly smell of wet rubbish filled his nostrils. His heart was racing, and his vision began to blur. Sweat was no longer running into his eyes, and he staggered as he tried to keep himself upright.

There was a path between two buildings, and he stumbled into it. His body was aching more than it had been, and he was suddenly aware of wetness soaking his torso. When he glanced down his eyebrows raised for a moment before he lurched and fell against the wall beside him.

 _Blasted demon got me_ , he thought with a soft chuckle as he slid down the stones of the building until he was sitting propped against it.

Lost in a strange world, and covered in his own blood.

_What a blasted disaster._

 

* * *

 

“Oh my heart’s in the basement, and my weekend’s at an all time low,” Abby sang, nodding her head along as she counted her tips.

It had been a shit night.

“And she says she can’t do it, then she can’t do it, she don’t make false claims,” she continued, tapping her foot.

Fifty measly dollars.

Fuck.

And yet somehow she was still swaying her hips, still singing along. Something about Bowie, he just made everything better, even when life was falling apart around her.

“You going out tonight, Abby?”

She shook her head, licking her finger so that she could separate a few of the last dollars she was counting. If she’d made more, maybe, but considering the small haul she wasn’t sure she’d be going out again anytime soon.

“Nah, how about you?” she glanced up briefly to see the small barback Danny looking around the empty bar, pulling on the straps of his backpack as he did.

“I thought about it, but I have finals coming up, maybe I should study,” he sighed. “After all, I might have a pop quiz tomorrow.”

She giggled and shook her head as she counted and set aside his tip out. Five dollars. It hardly seemed like enough.

“Yeah, need to be rested for those,” she mused as she passed over the money. “It’s a Monday night, not like anywhere would be exciting enough to stay out late.”

“It’s industry night at Jet, though,” he grumbled as he pocketed the cash she’d slipped him. “That’s usually a good time.”

“Good grades so that you can leave working a Monday night shift behind is more important,” she muttered as she pocketed the rest of the tips and began to clock out. “Is downstairs locked up?”

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Danny shrugged. “One last shot before we go?”

Abby giggled and shook her head, but she walked to the well and grabbed the bottle of bourbon that was there waiting. “Fine, just one.”

“You’re the best, Abby,” Danny said, and he seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watched her pour out two shots for them.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered, replacing the bottle of bourbon before she picked up her shot glass.

“To friends who slip you booze,” he toasted, chuckling as he clinked his glass against hers.

“You’re lucky it’s me working Monday nights,” she laughed, nodding at him before she touched her shot glass to the bar top and then raised it to her lips.

The well bourbon was shit, and it stung like rubbing alcohol all the way down. But she’d had a few shots already and her lips were tingling, her eyelids blinking more slowly as she looked around them.

One bonus of her new job was being able to drink with patrons and coworkers without judgments. It was exactly what she needed at the moment.

“So no Jet tonight?”

She laughed and picked up their shot glasses, leaving them in the small sink behind the bar before she began to make her way around the long bar. “No, sorry, Danny,” she shrugged. “Lawyers aren’t cheap.”

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked, his eyebrows raising on his forehead.

She shook her head and sighed. “No, I didn’t,” she told him. “But it’s okay. I’m assuming no news is good news right now. Plus if they’re not calling, they’re not charging – right now that’s a blessing in disguise.”

An awkward silence greeted her words, but she didn’t blame him. The kid wasn’t even done with college, still not old enough to drink legally, and she couldn’t even imagine trying to comprehend someone else’s divorce with that sort of minimal life experience.

“Go home and study, okay?” she told him, and laughed when he made a face at her. “Fuck – I forgot to take out this trash. I’ll – just go ahead and leave, I’ve got this.”

Danny stared for a moment and then shrugged before he put his headphones in and began to make his way to the front door. "See ya, Abby," he called over his shoulder.

Trash was always so easy to forget, and she rolled her eyes as she picked up the bag and made her way out to the alley. Monday nights were quiet, almost a calm lull compared to the usual hustle and bustle of the city. She was still adjusting to this part of the city, still adjusting to life on her own. It had only been a few weeks, really. That was hardly any time at all.

She sighed a little as she thought about the loft that awaited her, how quiet and bare it was compared to how things had been. Her lawyer had laughed at her when she listed their four poster bed on her requests, but she’d be damned if she let John have that gorgeous, wonderful bed that she had picked out.

His new Stepford Wife Wannabe could find them a new one.

She almost cringed a little when she thought about it, when she pictured the penthouse she had worked so hard to decorate and organize taken over by someone else. From what she’d seen of his new replacement model, pink and gold were likely to be her colors of choice.

When she thought about her beautiful dove grey, lavender, and white bedroom being turned into something gaudy, her heart twisted and ached. Six years – not including the two before that when she’d been the other woman.

Fucker.

Another deep sigh and she made her way to the dumpster they used for their trash. She’d lock up and head home – she was fairly certain she still had some whiskey, that would make up for not being able to go anywhere to meet anyone. Despite the status of her divorce, despite everything going on, she was determined not to let it rule her. She could get back out there.

If she could only manage to meet someone worth her time.

Opening the lid of the dumpster she heaved the trash over the edge and deposited it within as she let out a deep sigh. Taking out the trash was oddly refreshing, and she found herself wishing she could do it with other bits of her life.

Good riddance.

Eventually.

She chuckled softly to herself as she thought that, and then exhaled loudly as she looked up and down the alley. Maybe she’d have a smoke before she locked up –

A deep groan came from nearby, and she frowned as she looked toward the sound. There was a foot sticking out from behind one of the other dumpsters, and in the meager light of the alley she could tell it was in a heavy boot. It didn’t seem to be moving.

Probably just a drunk, passed out. Just in case, though…

She took a deep breath and folded her arms, walking slowly toward the prostrate figure. As she got closer her brows furrowed more deeply, her mouth dropping open as she took in the sight of the man lying on the ground.

“Hey – hey, you okay?” she asked as she stepped closer.

It couldn’t be.

He was wearing – armor. A helmet, chainmail, everything. There was even a large sword in one of his hands. His breastplate and the cloth hanging around his hips both had a very familiar symbol on it, a symbol that made her eyebrows raise as high as they could get on her forehead.

Had to be a cosplayer.

If that was the case, his costume was fantastic, more realistic than any she’d ever seen.

He groaned again and his eyelids fluttered, and her eyes roamed over him until realization dawned on her.

“Shit – were you mugged? You’re injured,” she told him. Throwing caution to the wind she knelt beside him and searched his torso for the wound that appeared to be bleeding profusely, and when she touched his left arm he let out a strangled cry of pain.

“M-my arm, I -” he grumbled, his words slurred and thick with a heavy – Scottish burr?

“Listen, buddy, you’re not at the con anymore, you don’t have to use the accent,” she pointed out, rolling her eyes.

Some guys just took this way too seriously.

“W-where am I?” he asked, his voice still heavily accented.

“Brooklyn,” she told him, frowning. “Too much booze at an after party or something?”

“I’m where?” he frowned up at her, his eyes looking a bit unfocused.

Aqua blue eyes, and dark tattoos on his chin and his sloping, hooked nose. He looked like the spitting image, but surely he’d just chosen him to cosplay because they looked so similar.

This guy was hotter than the Rylen in the game, even underneath all the dirt and the grime that was covering his face.

Abby’s musings were interrupted when he tried to push himself up and immediately fell back with a pained grimace.

“Hey – hey, you’re injured, take it easy,” she told him, placing her hands on his armored chest to hold him down. “I – I should try to get you to a hospital or something -”

“A – what? No I need – there has to be another rift, I have to get back,” he mumbled, and his eyes were almost wide with what looked like panic.

Maybe he’d hit his head, too.

If he wouldn’t go to a hospital, he at least needed to get off the street. He was talking gibberish, thinking that he actually was _the_ Rylen, and Abby stared at him for a moment while she considered.

He had a large sword, he had to be twice her size in all regards, and he seemed to be unaware of where or who he was. But he was injured, bleeding, his shoulder looked dislocated, and he possibly had a concussion. She couldn’t just leave him here.

“God damn it, mom, you just had to raise me to be a good person,” she groused, and she switched her purse to being strung across her body so that it didn’t fall off her shoulder. “Come on, Templar wannabe, let’s get you patched up.”

“No, I can’t -”

“I’m trying to help you, moron, maybe just accept it,” she snapped, and she reached for the sword gripped tightly in his hand. “Fuck that’s heavy – did you get one of the real things at a ren fest or something? Jesus, the lengths you cosplayers go to is astounding.”

The frown on his face made him look completely lost, as if he didn’t even know which question to start with. She ignored him and simply tried to move the sword so that she could take his good arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, you’re kind of bigger than me, feel like helping out and making this easier?” she quipped, tugging his arm and trying to pull him into a sitting position.

He finally seemed to realize she was trying to help him and he sat up, his jaw clenching tightly in pain with each movement. But he managed to push himself up, and Abby stood as well, moving to his side and pulling his arm around her shoulders.

“Come on, I – I have to lock up real quick but then I’ll take you home,” she told him, and she began to lead him to the back door of the bar. “Through here – duck a bit, don’t want you to hit your head – again.”

She made sure the back door to the bar closed behind them and then struggled to lead him through to the front. He staggered occasionally, and a few times she worried he was going to bring them both crashing to the ground. But they made it, and Abby fished in her purse for the keys.

After locking up behind them she pulled his arm more tightly around her shoulders, struggling with her other hand to carry his sword. How much did that thing cost? It looked like he’d gotten it made specially for him.

“I live nearby,” she panted, struggling still under the weight of him leaning on her and the sword she was carrying.

Luckily it was late enough the streets weren’t incredibly busy, and they didn’t really pass anyone on the short walk to her apartment. Not for the first time she found herself incredibly grateful she lived so close to work, although for once it wasn’t because she’d had too much to drink.

She buzzed them into the building and managed to get him through the small doorway before she found herself faced with a dilemma: three flights of stairs, or an elevator that would take forever and always seemed ready to break at any given moment?

Taking another deep breath and adjusting his arm on her shoulders, she decided risking a rickety elevator was worth it for a change. Dragging him with her she made her way to the elevator and pounded the button to go up. The doors opened and the man almost startled, stumbling back a half-step.

“Hey – hey, we’re almost there, come on,” she told him, leading him into the cramped elevator.

“What – Maker – I really have gone batty,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Maker? Really? You can drop the act, dude,” she sighed as she punched the button for the third floor.

When the lift shifted his arm tightened around her shoulders and she looked up at him, frowning. He was looking around wildly, but his eyes were still unfocused. Maybe he thought he was seeing things, since he seemed to have hit his head.

Or maybe he was on drugs.

Fuck, she hadn’t considered that.

_Sure Abby, just bring home a giant, strange man wielding a sword. What could go wrong?_

But she caught sight again of the blood he was covered in, the way his left arm was hanging awkwardly, and she sighed. Well, if he ended up being crazy, at least she wouldn’t have to pay her lawyers.

The doors opened and again the man muttered something incoherent under his breath, though it sounded vaguely like a prayer or a profanity. Abby led him out of the elevator and down the hallway to her door, and she fumbled with her keys in the lock before she could open it up.

She managed to get them both inside and used her elbow to flick the lights on, but the apartment was still relatively dark. She hadn’t had a chance to buy lamps yet.

Trying to push aside thoughts about where her life had ended up, she instead propped the sword she was carrying against the wall. “I’ll just, uh, leave your sword there, for you, for later,” she muttered, feeling strange that she had actually just used the word sword in a serious context.

“Where – I -” the man stuttered out and then fell silent. He seemed almost unable to comprehend anything happening around him, and she began to worry that he had seriously injured his head.

She had ibuprofen, but if it was worse than a mild concussion she didn’t know what she could do for him.

Heaving a sigh she led him to the sofa in her living room but then stopped herself. He was covered in blood, and while her furniture was shitty and from thrift stores, she still didn’t like the idea of it being covered in some stranger’s blood.

“Here, this way,” she tightened her hold on him once more to lead him into the small bathroom and flipped the light on.

“How are you – do you have magic? The light -”

“Oh my god, some of you guys take this shit way too seriously,” she rolled her eyes and finally removed his arm from her shoulders. “Let me help you out of this so that we can get you patched up.”

“Are you a healer? A mage?” he frowned at her.

“For fuck’s sake,” she breathed, deciding to ignore the question as she began to pull at the buckles on his armor. “How the hell do you get out of this? Can you help? It’ll go faster.”

He stared at her for a moment and then began to undo the buckles with one hand, and she helped him when he needed it. When she tried to pull his glove off his left arm he grimaced, a grunt of pain accompanying the action.

“Sorry,” she told him. “You’re lucky I’ve reset a shoulder before, I should be able to get that fixed up for you.”

He nodded absently as he pulled his helmet off finally to reveal chestnut waves, flattened slightly from sweating under the metal. Dropping the helmet he ran his hand through his hair, and for a moment Abby simply stared at him.

Definitely hotter than the guy he was cosplaying as.

“Did you hit your head?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she averted her gaze. Staring at the strange man she’d invited into her apartment probably wasn’t wise.

“I – I can’t remember,” he answered, his voice still low and gravelly, still accented.

Either he was committed to the bit, or he was actually Scottish.

“Okay,” she nodded as she helped remove his breastplate and set it aside. He was finally down to the linen shirt he was wearing under his armor, and she reached up to run her fingers over his dislocated shoulder. “Oh wow,” she breathed, unable to help her response to feeling the muscles that were obviously bulging beneath his shirt.

She cleared her throat and pulled her hand away, nodding her head far too much as she tried to steady herself.

“So, I can – I mean, I need to – this is going to hurt,” she gestured at his shoulder with a hand and then locked eyes with him.

“That’s fine, lass,” he grumbled. “Not the first time.”

_Lass?_

She wiped her hands on her jeans and continued nodding her head until she stopped, realizing she looked like a bobblehead.

“Right – okay,” she muttered. “Here, turn towards me.”

He did as instructed, and she took a hold of his forearm. She’d only done this once before, when John had injured himself playing touch football with his colleagues. It was easy enough, but she still found her hands shaking, worried that she could mess it up.

“R-ready?” she asked him, and at his firm nod she took a deep breath and lifted his arm.

He didn’t make a noise, but she could tell his jaw was clenching, his cheeks flexing as she raised his arm and began to pull it toward her. She braced a hand under it, beginning to rotate and tug it until it slipped back into place. When she finally managed it he let out a groan and his eyes closed, and she quickly released his arm and held her hands up.

“Better?” she asked tentatively.

He reached with his other hand and rubbed his reset shoulder, frowning slightly as he did. Looking down at her he nodded.

“Aye, thank you, lass,” he muttered.

“R-right,” she nodded and then turned toward the medicine cabinet. “I have bandages and some gauze, can you – take your shirt off, I need to clean up that wound you’ve got on your ribs. What did you get into a joust with someone at the con or something? I thought maybe you’d been shot but you look like you got cut by someone else’s sword.”

She was rambling as she searched for all of her meager first aid supplies, trying to distract herself from his looming presence as he slowly stripped off the shirt he was wearing.

_Don’t think about it, Abby. Remember, he could be crazy._

“Demon got me,” he told her as he looked down at the long gash on his ribs and ran a finger over it.

“A – demon,” she deadpanned, looking at him for a moment before she shook her head. “Sure. Whatever.”

She wet one of her washcloths and pumped some hand soap onto it before she turned back to face him.

Fuck – he looked like a chiseled Greek statue, only he had a few dark tattoos on his arms and chest similar to those on his face, and blood was running down his taut abdomen. For a moment she could only stare, and then she shook herself a little and began to clean up the bloody wound with the washcloth.

His breath sucked in as she cleaned the wound itself, and she glanced up to see him frowning as if pained.

“That stings, lass,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s soap – don’t want you to get an infection,” she told him, but was simply met with a blank stare.

_Okay then._

When she finished wiping all the blood away she rinsed the soap off of him and began to struggle with the large bandage she hoped would cover the lengthy gash.

“You probably need stitches -”

“Don’t you have elfroot? Or I can find a healer, they’ll be able to -”

“Dude, you have got to stop that shit,” she grumbled, thoroughly exasperated. “You need to see a _doctor_ , at a _hospital_ , and get some _stitches_.”

Again, just a blank stare.

“Did someone drug you or something?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “I swear, it’s like you think you’re actually in Thedas. The con’s over, dude, you can drop the act.”

“What? Am I – is this not Thedas? And what’s a con? What act?”

For a moment his eyes were wide, like he was panicked, and he began to look around him again.

Drugs. He had to be on drugs.

Abby groaned and arched her neck, closing her eyes as she thought. Just great – she’d brought a drugged-up cosplayer into her apartment. She couldn’t kick him out now. Sure, he was patched up and no longer passed out bleeding in an alley, but he clearly wasn’t in his right mind at the moment.

Which meant he shouldn’t be left on his own.

“Fucking Christ,” she muttered, and heaved a sigh before she turned to wash her hands, her mind still turning over all of her options.

It was too late now, he was already in her apartment. He already knew where she lived. And if he was on drugs, he needed water and to sleep it off, most likely. Whatever he was tripping on would work itself out of his system.

“Listen, you can crash here for the night,” she said, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

Only he wasn’t there.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, hurrying out of the bathroom to try to find out where he’d gone.

She didn’t have to look far.

It almost looked like he’d been trying to pull his boots off, but he’d only managed one of them so far. That is, he’d only managed one of them before he passed out where he was – in the middle of her living room, on the rug.

For a moment Abby simply stared at him, her hands on her hips, trying to determine if it was worth waking him up to get him onto the sofa. Whatever he was on looked like it had hit him bad, and maybe he was having a bad trip.

Waking him up could be dangerous.

She rubbed her forehead with her thin fingers, considering her options, and then finally decided to just let him be. Circling where he lay on the floor she grabbed the fleece blanket that was lying on her sofa and shook it out before she covered him with it.

“Night, weirdo,” she muttered and then made a beeline for her small kitchen.

She grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the small bar cart she had, but didn’t bother grabbing a glass. Unscrewing the top, she took a deep swig straight from the bottle, quickly followed by another as she simply stared at the large man sleeping on her floor.

_Why me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby was listening to ["Queen Bitch" by David Bowie. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5P63qGTm_g)


	2. A Permanent Truth

Every bit of him ached, and trying to drag himself out of blackness was taking every ounce of effort. Sleep wore off slowly, his mind feeling sluggish and disoriented, and for a moment it was as if nothing had existed before that moment.

How long had he slept?

And how much of what he had dreamt had been real?

The sky torn open, demons pouring out of tears in the sky, and then the raw Fade itself. Odd metal carriages, bright lights everywhere, only one moon, and a pretty lass who had rolled her eyes at everything he said while she tended his wounds.

His wounds.

He had been injured in battle, which explained the aches. That meant that the sky tearing open, demons descending on Thedas, that part had happened. The throbbing pain in his shoulder and stinging in his side confirmed it.

But after that, he must have blacked out. His dreams of the raw Fade and the strange land he found himself in had to have been caused by his injuries, or perhaps he was poisoned, delirious. Why else would he have dreamt of a lass who had seemed perfect in every way?

There was no way any of that had actually happened – it had to have been a trick of the Fade, of dreams and not reality.

A soft clinking noise sounded nearby, and then a whooshing, like a breeze. He frowned a little, trying to distinguish the noises. There was a constant buzzing, a constant humming, as well as an indistinct rumbling that sounded like it was coming from farther away.

Besides those subtle noises, he couldn’t hear anything. Surely the villagers, or someone, should be talking outside the tent? A healer nearby, speaking to someone else in the triage?

He moved his head and realized he didn’t seem to be on a pillow. No wonder he ached all over, since when he stretched out he noticed hard ground under him. This wasn’t a cot at all, not even a sleeping roll. Perhaps they’d run out of space, too many injured to tend because of the chaos.

His eyes finally began to open and bright sunshine greeted him, but it was coming through a window to the left of him. Nothing looked familiar. The walls were white, bare, except for a portion that was exposed beige brick. The ceilings were high, and white like the walls, just flat and smooth like plaster.

Turning his head he saw that he was lying on shiny wooden floor, looking polished almost like marble. But atop it, what he seemed to be laying on, was a thin, slightly dirty blue and white striped rug.

This certainly didn’t look like anywhere in Haven, nor anywhere else he had ever seen. Except for the small rooms he'd seen the night before, when the lass had tended to him.

With a pained groan he began to push himself up, his left arm twingeing with the movement. The lass – she had fixed it for him, if he remembered correctly, but everything was hazy and he wasn’t entirely certain it had actually happened.

A soft, almost fuzzy blanket fell off his chest as he sat up, and he saw an odd sort of beige covering over his ribs where they were stinging. He frowned, having no idea what the covering was or how it was affixed to him – it was just a large rectangle, stuck to his skin. He wasn’t wearing his shirt, stripped down to his dirty breeches instead, and he only had one armored boot on.

Sweet Andraste, what had happened to him?

“Oh good, you’re up,” a slightly flat, feminine voice said from behind him.

He turned, perhaps too quickly, to look behind him, searching out the source of the voice. His neck and back ached with the gesture, his muscles protesting how quickly he had twisted. Rubbing a hand on the nape of his neck, he frowned as he took in the sight of the speaker.

It was the lass from what he had thought was a dream, and vaguely he began to wonder if he was somehow trapped in the Fade.

Her hair was brown, pieces of it dark, pieces almost golden, barely brushing her collarbone but full and silky in appearance. Slightly sun-kissed skin peeked out from a flowing black shirt that was low on her chest and only covered her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed. From this distance he could tell her large eyes were dark, but if he remembered correctly from the previous night they were chocolate brown, so much so that in dim light they had appeared black.

Her dark eyebrows were raised slightly, and she almost looked amused as she stared at him. She was eating what looked like a round piece of bread coated in a thick paste the color of cream, holding a ceramic mug in her other hand. The room she was in reminded him of a kitchen, almost, but it was miniscule, and the large white contraption he thought to be the oven made absolutely no sense to him at all.

Taking a drink from the mug she held, she quirked an eyebrow and smacked her lips before her eyes roamed over him. “So, feeling better? You were tripping pretty badly.”

He frowned, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. Had he continually fallen over? He didn’t remember falling, except into what had appeared to be the Fade.

“Tripping?” he repeated. “I – was I falling?”

Her brows knitted together and again her eyes roamed over him as she pursed her lips. “Did someone slip you something, then? I thought maybe you went too hard at an after party, you certainly seemed like you were drugged up,” she said, but she sounded hesitant like she was beginning to doubt her words.

“I – drugged up?” he glanced around and reached a hand to absently drag down his chest. Had he been poisoned? Was that what she meant?

“Yeah – what was it, shrooms? X laced with something else, maybe? Did someone slip you a roofie?” she rattled off, taking another sip from the mug as she peered over the edge at him. “Surely it wasn’t just booze, I mean you were acting really out of it. Unless you’re a lightweight or drank a handle on your own.”

“You think I was on drink, lass?” he shook his head as he said it. “No, I’d been – I was fighting demons, I was injured and then I ended up in the Fade, which shouldn’t have been possible. Where – where am I? I was outside Haven, last -”

The cream-covered bread quickly descended to the floor, where it landed cream-side down with a soft plop, and her mouth dropped slightly as she stared at him. “I – listen, dude, I’m sure that the con was fun and all, but you’re starting to be weird about it. It’s over, and you’re not even in costume anymore -”

“Costume? Con? You – you kept saying that last night, what does it mean?” he asked. His heart was beginning to race, panic vying for his attention as he began to realize that he likely wasn’t, in fact, in Thedas any longer.

“I -” she hesitated, staring at him wide-eyed for a moment. “I just thought – Comic-Con or something, right? Some sort of convention? Were you LARP’ing? I just assumed you had been out, I mean – nice costume and all but you don’t need to be in character anymore, I’m not your dungeon master.”

“Dungeon master? Is this – am I in a dungeon? Are you holding me -”

“Fucking Christ, what is even happening right now? How hard did you hit your head? How many drugs did you take?” she stepped forward and put the mug she was holding down, frowning at him with concern.

“I – lass, I’m confused, I was in battle and now I’m – I don’t know where I am. What is this place?”

“M-my apartment,” she answered, and he noticed that her fingers were tightening on the edge of the wooden surface in front of her. “What do you mean battle? What happened to you?”

“The end of the blasted world, it looked like,” he muttered, shaking his head and dragging his hand over his chin again as he pictured it. “The Conclave – everything was destroyed, and then the sky tore open. There were demons everywhere, I’d been fighting for almost a day straight.”

“Ummmm.”

When he glanced at her he noticed a shiftiness in her posture, her gaze flitting around the tiny room. She caught sight of a large knife nearby and he watched as her fingers carefully inched toward it.

“I’m telling the truth, lass,” he tried to assure her, but her large eyes were fixated on him, filled with apprehension.

The look in her eyes mirrored every emotion that was crashing through him, yet he wanted to try to make certain she was comfortable. If she thought he was going to hurt her, he couldn’t get any more answers, he wouldn’t be able to figure out where he was or how he had gotten here.

Or whether or not he could get back.

“Listen, I just – I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just confused,” he said, raising his hands in front of him. “Is there – do you know where I can find a way into the Fade? Or back to Haven? Commander Cullen will be looking for me -”

“You have got to be shitting me,” she groaned, and she rested both palms on her forehead as she closed her eyes. “Okay, listen buddy – you’re really good at this, but seriously – please stop. Please come back to the real world. Do you – do you have a LARP’ing safe word, or something? Because this is me saying it.”

She glanced at him but when all he did was frown at her, thoroughly confused, she gave a slightly hysterical laugh and put her hands on her hips.

“I’m serious, I’m tapping out. LARP’ing safe word, let’s go – um, pineapple smoothie? Sushi?” she raised her eyebrows and stared at him, incredulous. “How about, um – I’m not a virgin? I have a girlfriend? Sci-fi is better than fantasy?”

None of those words meant anything to him, minus the virgin part, and he wondered why she had mentioned it. She seemed close to hysterics still, torn between laughter and tears.

“Seriously, please – anything, just – I’m done, no more pretending to be Rylen, okay?”

“You – how do you know my name?” he asked, frowning sharply. Had he said it to her the previous evening? How else could she know who he was?

“You are unbelievable – listen, I brought you back here because I didn’t want to leave you in an alley, but this is a shitty way to repay me,” she half-shouted, her voice wavering. “Please, just – tell me your name, tell me where you came from. Tell me what you took last night so I can determine if you need to get to the hospital – you’re still tripping -”

“I’m sitting still on the floor, lass, I haven’t moved at all and I’m certainly not falling,” he gestured around himself, flabbergasted.

“Fucking Christ!” she laughed but it almost sounded like a sob, and again she ran a ring-bedecked hand over her forehead. She shot him a furtive glance and then frowned, like she was thinking carefully. “What state are we in?”

“S-state? Are we in the Free Marches, lass?”

“Or – what’s the capital of the U.S.? Wait you sound Scottish – what’s the capital of Scotland?” she lowered her hand and positively glared at him as she waited for an answer.

He had never heard of any of those places. “S-Scotland? Lass, I’m from Starkhaven -”

“Oh my god this can’t be happening,” she said, her voice coming out as a skeptical laugh. “This seriously can’t be happening – I mean, did you hit your head? Did you take too much X and your brain broke? You’re now, what, stuck thinking you’re Rylen?”

“I – I _am_ Rylen,” he answered, and he finally pushed himself to his feet.

“Fuck,” she muttered, and she buried her face in her hands. “Why – why me? Either you’re crazy or somehow you’re telling the truth and how _the fuck_ are you real? How the fuck did you get here from Thedas?”

“Through the Fade, it seems,” he mused, scratching absently at the beige covering over his wounded ribs as he looked around the room. “I was fighting a demon and it fell backward through a rift, I – I think it brought me with it.”

Silence greeted his words, and when he glanced at her he saw her eyes wide and she was standing stock still, as if she was afraid to move.

The tension was oppressive as they simply stared at one another. He was nervous if he said anything else, if he pressed for answers, that she would shut down and refuse to answer any. And so he simply held her gaze, waiting to see what move she made.

“I – I need a smoke,” she said after a moment, and she abruptly pushed from the counter, crossing the small room to the window.

His heart leapt into his throat as she threw the window open, sliding it up until there was a sizable gap – large enough for her to clamber through. She hooked one leg over the windowsill and then the other before he hurried forward.

“Wait, lass -” he cried, but as he got closer he finally saw the platform she was climbing out onto. It seemed to be metal, and the clang of her white and black shoes making contact with it rattled in his brain.

Maker, his head ached – his shoulder and arms too, his torso – everything ached. Bending down to rest his palms on the windowsill even caused him pain, and he grimaced slightly as he leaned on it so that he could look at her.

She was perched on a step to the left of the window, and he realized there were metal stairs along the side of the building.

Stairs, on the side of a brick building?

“What the -” his gaze roamed up the stairs, taking in the platform that rested below the window, the way it seemed fixed to the building. “Stairs – what are these, lass? Where do they go?”

“They’re – they’re in case of fire,” she answered hesitantly, staring at him with her brows furrowed. She was rummaging in a small white packet and pulled out a thin white stick, which she placed between her lips as she watched him carefully. Her other hand raised a small bright blue cylinder, and she flicked her thumb and fire sprang into being.

It was almost like magic, yet also –

“Is that flint, lass?”

“My name’s Abby,” she said, her words muffled from the way she was holding the white stick between her lips. “And it’s a lighter.”

“A – oh, I suppose that makes sense,” he nodded, thinking over the word. It lit things on fire, so ‘lighter’ was fitting. He glanced around the platform before he stooped further and pushed his way out onto it. More questions were flitting across his mind, but he was trying not to scare her.

Calm, so that he could figure out where he was and how he could get back.

“If you’re Rylen – like _the_ Rylen, then how come you’re speaking English?” she asked, frowning as she stared at him over the white stick. She held it frequently between her lips, sucking in a breath before she released it, exhaling thick plumes of scented white smoke as she stared at him.

“English? I’m not – I can’t speak English, I’ve never even heard of it,” he answered. “I’m speaking Common, lass -”

“No, you’re definitely speaking English, otherwise this conversation would be going a lot differently,” she informed him, her voice firm as she almost glared at him. She pursed her lips and let her eyes roam over him for a moment before she inhaled through the smoke again. “So you really came here through the Fade?”

“Aye, so it would seem,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he gazed out over the metal railing of the platform he stood on.

They were high up off the ground, but it didn’t bother him, even though it was mildly disconcerting how rickety the metal of the stairs was. Shoddy workmanship, it seemed. But beyond the railing was a large city, so many gigantic, strange buildings reaching toward the sky that it almost made him dizzy.

How many were there? How many people were there?

Beyond the nearest was a large construct, and it took him a moment to realize it was spanning a river. It was a gargantuan bridge, stretching farther than the largest bridge in Thedas.

“This – this isn’t Thedas?” he finally asked after a moment, glancing sideways at her.

“No, afraid not,” she told him, and there was a soft quality to her voice, as if she thought she was breaking bad news to him. “You’re in New York, specifically Brooklyn.”

“New York? Brooklyn?” the word felt odd on his tongue. “And your country, New York -”

“No, New York is the state.”

“Brooklyn is the country?”

“It’s the borough.”

“It’s the – lass, I’m – I’m trying to wrap my head around this all but it’s making me feel a wee bit batty,” he sighed. “I – I’m nowhere in Thedas.”

“That’s right,” she murmured, and when he looked at her he saw a soft frown on her face. She was chewing one of her thumbs, the thin white stick held between two fingers, apparently forgotten as she considered him.

“But you know of Thedas? And – and the Fade? Do you know how – how I could get to it?” he asked, feeling a small ray of hope trying to peek through the despair seizing him.

“I – it’s complicated,” she answered slowly. “Um there – there isn’t a way back. See we don’t have magic here, the Fade doesn’t exist here.”

“It doesn’t – but I came here through it, a rift opened and led me here,” he told her, gesturing his hand out at the city beyond and feeling totally lost.

“And I have honestly no idea how that happened,” she shrugged. “It shouldn’t have been possible, I mean we don’t have magic and Thedas – Thedas isn’t supposed to be real. Or at least, I didn’t think it was.”

“What does that mean? Of course Thedas is real, I lived there for five-and-thirty years of my life -”

“And here, on Earth, it’s just a story,” she threw her hands up. “I’m as confused as you are, you’re not – you’re not supposed to be real.”

“Earth?” he frowned at her, trying to focus on the word he didn’t understand in order to distract himself from the feelings her assertions were inspiring in him.

Not real. No magic. No Fade.

No way back.

“The planet,” she answered. “Our world, where you are now, it’s called Earth. It doesn’t have magic, or mages, or Templars, or the Fade. Just seven billion people and misery, that’s all.”

Rylen reeled, his mind trying to wrap around the words as she said them, but it made his head ache and his eyes sting.

_No way back._

“Hey.”

He jumped slightly, the quiet voice unexpected so close beside him. Glancing down he saw her standing next to him, looking hesitant before she reached out and placed a hand on his bare arm. Her touch was soft, her fingers cool even though it was a warm day, and somehow the contact was a welcome relief against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I – I wish I knew a way to get you back, I really do. But I figured – it’s better not to get your hopes up. It happened once, I mean – what do I know? Until a few minutes ago I thought you were just a – a fiction. Maybe another rift will open, or something.”

He gulped, swallowing the emotion in his throat. She was looking at him so sympathetically, but she looked unsure, like she worried she had upset him too much.

“I – thank you, lass. I appreciate your candor, it’s just – a lot to come to terms with,” he sighed and looked back over the city. “I was in the middle of a disaster, trying to protect people, I – my duty was there, my people were there.”

“I – I can’t imagine,” she told him. Her fingers squeezed slightly where they rested on his upper arm. “Earth’s – Earth’s not that bad, really. You might even like it, I mean – we have some kind of cool stuff.”

“You said just people and misery,” he pointed out.

“Don’t listen to me, I’m just – um, having a bad day,” she muttered awkwardly, finally releasing his arm and shifting so that she could look over the city as well.

“Aye, that makes two of us,” he grumbled and raised a hand to rub his aching head. “So I suppose no elfroot either, lass?”

“No, but we have our own version,” she chuckled. “Come on, I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”

“Ayeboo what now?” he frowned as he watched her duck back through the window.

“Ibuprofen – it’s a painkiller. It should help your head and your shoulder,” she called over her shoulder as he stooped and tried to fold himself through the window again.

She was standing in the same room she had led him to the night before to tend his wounds, and he followed and stood in the doorway, looking around the small space. It almost reminded him of a bathing chamber, only tiny and cramped. There was a counter with a wash basin built into it, a strange white chair, and a glass stall tucked into the corner.

If it was a bathing chamber, it seemed to be missing a tub or a chamber pot, and so he found himself wondering what its purpose really was.

Speaking of a chamber pot though…

“Eh, lass, do you – I’m assuming you have a chamber pot or something?” he asked, frowning as he watched her tip some small orange _somethings_ into her palm from a white bottle.

“Chamber pot? Jesus is that what you guys actually used?” she shook her head and laughed. “No, toilet’s right here – here, you were injured pretty badly, take four of these, that should help. I’ll get you some water to help you take them – what are you doing?”

“I – you said take four of them?” he stared at her, his brows furrowing as he halted in his actions, the hand with the small orange circles pressed to his wounded side.

“They’re pills, you swallow them, you don’t put them on your wound,” she laughed harder, shaking her head and looking bemused.

“You said they were like elfroot,” he shrugged, but he felt himself flush.

“They have the same effect, I’m assuming,” she told him, finally stopping her laughter. “I’ll get you some water. And oh, here – um, so we don’t have chamber pots, we have toilets. Here.”

She turned to the strange white chair and lifted the top of the seat to reveal a hole filled with some water. He knew some nobles and keeps had had pipes that brought water into the bathing chamber, but he had never seen a chamber pot like this one.

“So, um, do your business in – in there, and then press this,” she pushed down on a small silver lever, “and it will flush it.”

A whoosh of water accompanied the action, washing what had been in the basin down a hole and filling it once more with fresh water.

He’d definitely never seen the likes of that, and he found himself wanting to take it apart and figure out how it worked.

“Oh, and this – this is toilet paper, use it – but not too much or you’ll clog it – to wipe – you know,” she pointed at a white roll hanging on the wall beside the flushing chamber pot as she rambled.

“I – all right, lass,” he said, not certain what else he could say to any of this.

_What a strange land._

“Anyway, um – swallow those ibuprofen and I’ll – you must be hungry,” she muttered, almost to herself, and then she brushed past him to hurry to the kitchen.

For a moment he stood still, trying to ignore the way it had felt to have her brush past him, moving so close to do it. He needed to get his head straight.

He popped the four orange circles – pills, she had called them? – into his mouth and swallowed before he stepped over to the strange white chamber pot.

_What a marvel._


	3. Mrs. Baker

She was out of food.

Basically.

Bagels and cream cheese, some milk, likely expired, and packets of soy sauce and ketchup from take out she’d gotten after work a few times were all that was in her fridge.

Fuck.

For now he’d have to take a bagel, until she could go get something else for them to eat. Or there was a bodega around the corner, they could grab a bite instead of her having to make anything.

He didn’t have any clothes.

She arched her neck, closing her eyes as she tried to take a deep breath. He was really real, all tattoos and scars and deep Starkhaven accent, lost and confused on Earth.

And currently laughing in her bathroom.

She frowned and glanced at the closed bathroom door, listening to the barks of laughter that were accompanying the sound of the toilet flushing. Laughter wasn’t quite the response she had expected, and she found herself hoping that it wasn’t in response to her toilet overflowing or him aiming incorrectly.

What the fuck was she going to do with him?

There was no way she could turn him loose on the streets. He was lost in an entirely foreign place. He had no idea how to find his way around, to find a job, to support himself, no knowledge of the technology, laws, or customs.

He was like a thirty-five year old newborn.

Except that he actually had the capacity to learn, although who knew how long that was going to take.

At the moment she could barely feed herself, let alone a giant of a man from another world. Her eyes wandered around the small studio apartment that had hardly had any room for her to live on her own, and she felt her stomach twist when she thought about trying to fit them both in it.

A threadbare sofa, a cheap ass rug, blankets and two pillows, a bar cart that functioned as her sole kitchen counter – and no other furnishings. She had a toaster, one pot, one pan, and two plates, two bowls, two mugs, two glasses, and a collection of cheap flatware. She didn’t have a bed, not even a futon or an air mattress, and she was currently living out of the suitcase of clothes she had grabbed haphazardly on her way out of the penthouse.

Not even three weeks on her own, and she was simply crossing her fingers and hoping that she’d make enough to pay her rent for this tiny shithole by the start of the next month. And now she had an extra mouth to house and feed.

What a fucking disaster.

But for all her self-preservation instincts, she couldn’t imagine turning him out on his own. It would be cruel, and she couldn’t bring herself to really entertain the idea. She at least knew who he was, knew what culture shock and panic he was likely feeling. Or at least, she knew he had to be feeling it, she wasn’t quite sure she could ever comprehend it.

She heard the toilet flush again, accompanied by more laughs, and she glared at the bathroom door once more. What had she gotten herself into?

Food – he needed food.

Deciding it was best to focus on one thing at a time, she pulled out the bagels and cream cheese and moved to the secondhand toaster that sat on her counter.

“Lass, that’s – who invented that? It’s a blasted wonder,” Rylen chuckled as he came out of the bathroom.

“I – I don’t know,” she muttered, sticking the bagel halves in the toaster.

“Surely they’re famed,” he mused. “They must be the talk of all Brooklyn.”

“I -” she stared at him, open-mouthed. A part of her was wondering why she didn’t know who invented the toilet, and the other part of her was resisting the urge to pinch herself to make sure she was actually awake. “It – it was invented ages ago, and I didn’t study history. At least not – not after high school, really.”

She was met again by a blank stare, but before either of them could say anything the bagels popped up in the toaster and he jumped slightly.

“Oh, sorry – I, um, I only have bagels right now, do you want schmear? I mean – cheese – or just, have some,” she shook her head as she coated his bagel with cream cheese and passed it to him. “Wait, did you – did you wash your hands?”

“Did I – lass, they’re not dirty -”

“You just went to the bathroom, moron,” she chided him, snatching the plate out of his hands. “Here, kitchen sink. There’s soap next to it.”

“I – how do I -” he bent and looked over the sink, his brows furrowed.

“Oh for – here,” she stepped forward and flicked on the faucet. “And the soap is that liquid there, press down on the top of it -”

She watched as he awkwardly followed her instructions, noticing the way he was frowning slightly, almost looking like a scolded child. When he was done he reached his hands toward his breeches to wipe them off, and then suddenly hesitated to look at her.

A laugh escaped her before she awkwardly cleared her throat and reached for the small hand towel that hung on the oven door. “Here,” she muttered.

He took the towel from her and dried his hands, giving her a curt nod before he reached for the plate she was offering. “Th-thank you, lass,” he told her. “I’ll – I’ll be on my way soon, I don’t want to trespass on your hospitality -”

“And go where?” she interrupted, folding her arms.

“I can – maybe I can find a way back, a rift -”

She heaved a sigh and shook her head, looking around the tiny studio. “Listen, it’s not much, but you can stay here.”

“No, I don’t want to impede -” he hurried to assure her, but he stopped when he saw the glare she gave him.

“Where would you go, seriously? I’m not – I’m not going to let you go live on the streets in a completely foreign world,” she snapped. “Just – you can stay here until we figure out what to do with you. Now eat your bagel, and here, have a glass of water.”

Her actions were jerky as she grabbed a clean glass from the dish rack and filled it with water. He was almost twice her size, but standing slightly hunched as if she had shamed him. Taking the glass of water from her with murmured thanks, he sipped some and then set it down so that he could start eating the bagel. At first he held it up and inspected it, looking curious, but then he took a bite and his eyes widened.

“It’s – it’s very good, lass, thank you,” he managed to say around a mouth full of bagel.

For a moment she simply stared at him, still trying to wrap her mind around the situation.

Knight-Captain Rylen.

Shirtless.

Eating a bagel in her kitchen.

“R-right, okay,” she stuttered out and turned away from him. “Um, listen, I need – I have errands to run, it’s my day off. Do you think you can – stay here,” she emphasized by pointing firmly at the ground with both index fingers, “and wait until I get back?”

“Let me go with you and help -”

“No, I mean – you don’t even have a shirt -”

“Aye, I do, it’s right there -”

“It’s covered in blood -”

“I’ll wear my armor -”

“No!” she shook her head forcefully. “No, no. People in Brooklyn don’t really – _wear armor_. I’d rather not have to deal with the cops, okay? Just – stay here, and rest or something.”

“Is there – are you certain I cannot do anything for you, lass?”

“Again, it’s – it’s Abby,” she groused, slightly annoyed. Why did he have to try to be so nice?

_Errands to run, food to buy. Yeah right, with what money?_

“Aye, Abby, I – I can do something to help,” he grumbled, his mouth full of the last bit of bagel. He had positively inhaled it.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t want you to burn the place down or something,” she sighed and walked over to where her purse was hanging. “Don’t answer the door, don’t leave the apartment, just – take a nap on the sofa, or something. You were injured, you probably need the sleep.”

He nodded, still standing in the kitchen, looking lost and thoroughly out of place as he watched her make her way to the door.

“I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder, and when she closed and locked the door behind her she took a moment, resting her head against the cool wood.

_What the actual fuck._

Her first day off since she’d managed to get the job at the bar over two weeks ago, and she was having to spend it running errands. She had meant to spend it looking for a second job instead, but this was more pressing at the moment.

Clothes, and food.

The entire time she hurried through the streets of Brooklyn, her mind raced as she tried to come to terms with this strange new reality. Thedas was real, somehow someone had made their way from that world to this one – and not just any someone, a giant, ex-Templar wielding a sword and deep burr with equal skill.

Or at least she assumed, she hadn’t actually seen him put the sword to use in person.

Her mind continued to conjure the image of him shirtless in her kitchen while she browsed through racks of clothes at the thrift store, trying to determine what would be large enough to fit his broad shoulders and large arms.

She’d just have to eyeball it.

A pair or two of jeans, a pair of sweats, a few button downs and t-shirts, including one for a band that hadn’t been popular in years. Luckily there was a package of socks, but she stared at the selection of shoes for a long time, realizing she had no idea what size he would wear. Chewing her bottom lip she thought hard for a moment before she sighed and decided to give it up.

He could wear his boots until they could manage to shop for shoes together.

After the thrift store she hurried to the bodega around the corner, counting the dollars in her hand as she walked through the narrow, crowded aisles. Not enough after buying clothes to buy as much as she’d wanted, but enough to buy food to last them both a few days. It had been years since she’d had to scrimp and budget so much, and she felt out of practice. She had been good at this, when she was younger, and she kept trying to remember all the tricks her mother had taught her.

Several times she had to talk herself out of buying things – she didn’t need sparkling water or Nutella, even though she desperately craved both. The necessities, the cheap items that could actually keep her – them – fed and relatively healthy.

Mixed frozen vegetables, packs of Cup of Noodles, and a giant carton of Kraft macaroni and cheese, milk because it was expired, a pack of hot dogs, and a loaf of bread. Rylen wouldn’t know the difference, he could do without buns.

As she stood in line trying to balance the items she’d grabbed and the bag of thrift store clothes, she felt detached from her situation, as if she were seeing herself from outside of her body.

How the fuck had she gotten here?

Counting out nearly exact change to pay for groceries was rough, bringing back memories of almost a decade ago. Mentally she chided herself for becoming so lazy, for giving in so easily to luxury, to not worry about a budget or being thrifty as she once had been.

A life better than the one she was leaving behind. That was what John had promised her.

She gritted her teeth and shoved the money at the clerk of the bodega, intent on getting out of there as quickly as she could. Only a block or two to go and then she could take her shoes off and pour herself some whiskey. She still had enough left in the bottle for a stiff drink, and fuck did she need one.

Somehow she managed to balance everything as she made her way back to her building, buzzing herself in and climbing up the first two flights of stairs.

And then her phone started ringing.

If she wasn’t expecting important calls, she would have ignored it, but instead she balanced everything to look at the screen.

“Motherfuc – hello?” she pressed the phone to her ear, holding it with her shoulder as she slowly began to make her way up the rest of the stairs.

“Mrs. Baker, it’s me -”

“I know it’s you, Rodney, I have you saved in my phone,” she grumbled. “And it’s Miss Henderson -”

“Well, officially it’s Mrs. Baker -”

“Is this how you’re spending my money? Jesus Christ, Rodney, get to the point,” she stopped outside her door, not wanting to try to open the door while on the phone.

Who knew how Rylen would react to a phone – or her coming home.

“I’m afraid I have bad news, about a few things,” her lawyer continued, still speaking in a slow drawl. If they’d been meeting in person, she’d be resisting the urge to shake him and tell him he needed to spit it out.

“When don’t you,” she sighed. “Just tell me.”

“The judge denied your requests – all of them.”

“Fuck,” Abby breathed, closing her eyes as the news sunk in. “What was the reason? You said – the disparate income, the living situations -”

“Yes, but you have the ability to work, and so they didn’t see any reason to grant you temporary alimony.”

“I’m not able to work in my field -”

“Your field is literature, so unless you have a novel you’ve been sitting on that needs to get published,” her lawyer pointed out dryly. “But since you’re physically able to work, and are working, the court saw no reason to have him give you support during the proceedings.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered. “And I still can’t access the accounts?”

“No, that would be inadvisable -”

“Well then what the fuck do you advise, Rodney? That’s your job – you’re failing on the other half of it, which was to represent my interests in court!”

Her voice was rising, unable to control her temper as the realizations came crashing over her. If the court was already easily swayed on his behalf, what would that mean for the rest of the proceedings?

“Lass?”

The call came through the door, and it began to rattle slightly as if he was trying to open it.

Fuck.

“Mrs. Baker,” the name grated on her nerves, irritating her further, “I’m doing the best I can -”

“Well your best is shit, Rodney! What did they say about the ring? Can I sell it?”

“No, that would also be inad -”

“Inadvisable, got it,” she finished for him. “Well thanks for nothing -”

“Mrs. Baker, I -”

But the rest of his sentence was ignored as Rylen finally managed to get the door open and charged out, looking wildly around the hall.

“Rodney, I gotta go,” she muttered and hung up.

“Lass – Abby, I heard you shouting, are you all right? Who was – was someone bothering you? Where are they?” He was still looking around the hall and walked to the stairs, looking down them as if searching for who she had been yelling at.

“I – no, I was talking to someone on the phone,” she told him, sighing as she gestured with her head into the apartment. “Come on, I’ll explain.”

“A – a foam?” he repeated, following her inside with a bemused look on his face. “You can speak with people through foam?”

She laughed, shaking her head as she set her bags down. “No, it’s a – means of communication. A phone. So he was in his office, but we were – talking. Through the phone.”

“A – that one may take some more explaining,” he mused slowly.

“I think a lot of things will,” she sighed. “Here, I got you some clothes, and actually got some groceries – er, food. But hopefully these fit.”

She held out the bag that had clothes, and he frowned as he took it from her to look inside. “This material is odd,” he commented, seemingly interested in the plastic bag more than the clothes at the moment.

“It’s called plastic,” she explained. “It’s made. I don’t – I don’t know how. In a factory or something.”

Perhaps he could tell that she was irritated, because he simply nodded and didn’t press her with more questions even though she was sure he had to have some. She could hear him rustling through the bag while she put away the food, but still he didn’t say anything to her, though she thought she heard a few chuckles or mutterings under his breath.

“Hey you guys had cheese, right -” she asked as she turned away from the fridge.

But she forgot why she was asking entirely, stunned speechless by the sight that greeted her. Rylen had his back to her, and she found herself incredibly glad, because he was naked.

Stark naked.

There were some bruises across his back, likely from the battle he had been in before he fell through the rift, as well as scars from old injuries. His muscles flexed as he shook out the pair of sweats, and her eyes widened as he stooped slightly to begin to pull them on.

“I – um – I – what are you -” she stuttered out, unable to tear her wide eyes away from the sight of his perfectly muscular ass.

“Changing, lass,” he told her, turning as he pulled the string of the sweats tight. He quirked an eyebrow at her when he noticed the shocked expression on her face. “Did I – did I do something wrong? Surely – you’ve seen a naked man before?”

“I just thought – I mean normally we change like – in the bathroom or something,” she muttered, trying to shake herself to clear the images from her mind.

“Oh, my apologies, I – suppose I’m used to the barracks,” he scratched absently at the bandage on his ribs and looked around. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I -”

“No, it’s fine, you’re right, you’re not the first guy I’ve seen naked, I just – wasn’t expecting it,” she murmured, and she turned back to the fridge.

What on Earth had she gotten herself into?

“Are you hungry? I was thinking of making some mac and cheese,” she told him, and when she glanced up she was surprised to see him standing beside her.

“Some – I understood cheese but what’s the other word, lass?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh, you are in for a treat,” she giggled and grabbed two of the boxes of Kraft mac and cheese she had bought. “True American, Earth meal coming right up.”

“A-American?” he repeated.

“Oh right – you were asking the country. Welcome to America, dude!” she held her hands out, trying to force a laugh. Maybe if she distracted herself with explanations, if he kept asking her questions, she could forget about her call from her lawyer.

Or the way that she’d just been fucked – and not in the way she wanted to be.

“What is – you keep calling me that, is it a form of address?” he asked, walking over to lean on the bar cart as he watched her preparing the water to boil.

“Oh, sorry – means man, guy, just sort of, ‘hey, dude,’” she shrugged. “But yeah, you’re in the United States of America, and again, this state, of which there’s fifty, is New York.”

“And Brooklyn was the – city?” he guessed tentatively.

“New York is the city.”

“The – is it a city-state?”

“No, it’s just named both, New York and New York City,” she shook her head as she turned the stovetop on.

“I – I see,” he scratched absently at his bandaged rib again.

“Don’t worry, it’s – I’m sure it’s a lot, don’t be embarrassed if you don’t remember it all right away,” she told him.

“I think I’m getting it, I’m just still trying to – I keep expecting to wake up, or find out I’m in the Fade, trapped by some demon,” he muttered, looking around the apartment.

“You’re not, I promise,” she tried to assure him, but she knew her words had to sound hollow.

“You were arguing, is there – is there something the matter, something I can help with? I owe you my life, las – Abby, I’d like to help, if I can.”

It was almost as if he was changing the subject, as if his mind weighed just as heavily as hers did at the moment. She pitied him, wondering if maybe he actually had it worse than she did.

“I – it’s a long story, not really anything to be done about it,” she sighed.

“Are you certain? If someone is giving you trouble -”

“No, it’s not like that,” she rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I’m married. Or at least, I am for now. We’re getting a divorce, he filed for it a few weeks ago, and I left. And I -”

“Slow down, lass,” he interrupted, and she glanced at him to see him frowning at her. “You’re married? Was that your husband you were fighting with?”

“No, it was my lawyer. I tried to get the judge to grant me temporary alimony, but -” she trailed off when she was still met with a blank stare. “Right. Thedas. You probably didn’t have lawyers or divorce or anything like that.”

He shook his head but waited for her to continue her explanation.

“Um – so my husband and I aren’t going to be married anymore, we’re dissolving the union. But there are laws, ways to go about it. And basically he fucked me over, because one of the laws means that I can’t use our joint bank account – er, our joint money – coin?” At his nod of understanding she sighed. “I mean he can’t either, but he knew, he was the one filing, and he – he moved money out of the account before he did. I – I didn’t know it was coming. And now, I’m broke.”

“Broke? He – hurt you? Or -”

“Poor,” she muttered. “It’s – sorry. I shouldn’t be – you have your own issues. Ignore me, I’m just angry. It’s been a shitty few weeks. Few months. Hell – few years, probably.”

An awkward silence fell and she chewed at her bottom lip, trying to fight the emotions coursing through her. When she glanced at him she saw him scratching again at the bandage and she heaved a sigh and walked over to him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing his hand aside to get at the bandage.

“I’m – I’m fine, lass, you don’t need to worry about me,” he murmured, and she noticed his breath almost seemed to catch when she ran her fingers over his bruised ribs.

“Do you feel feverish?”

“No, I just ache,” he answered. “Really, I’m all right, Abby. Thank you for tending to my wounds, and that ayebooprofen helped.”

She giggled softly at the way he slowly pronounced the word, but she shrugged. “I can give you some more after you eat. Oh, right.”

Pulling her fingers away from his skin she turned to check on the boiling water. He lingered behind her, watching interestedly as she cooked, and she couldn’t tell if he was waiting to see if he could help or if he wanted to ask her more questions.

“You can ask, it’s okay, you’re not bothering me,” she told him after a few minutes, glancing over her shoulder to give him a smile.

She noticed his eyes dip to her mouth before returning to her gaze, and he returned her smile eagerly.

“Is that – how does your stove work? I – there isn’t any fire,” he mused, pointing at where she was stirring the pasta.

“Electricity,” she explained. “The same way the lights work. We harnessed electricity and it – it powers almost everything for us.”

“Electricity? Like lightning?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. She focused once more on her work cooking, draining the pasta and then making the cheese sauce. She chanced a glance at him as she did so, secretly pleased to see the confused look on his face as she poured orange powder into the pot.

“Is that – what is that?” he asked.

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” she giggled.

“If you say so, lass.”

She dished out a large portion of the mac and cheese for him into a bowl before serving herself, and she handed it over with a fork to him. “Bon appétit.”

He chuckled as he took it, holding it up to his nose to smell before he piled his fork with some and lifted it to his mouth. She watched as he blew on it and took a bite, somehow feeling anxious.

Why did she care so much if he liked it?

His chewing was slow, his brows furrowed as he thoughtfully considered the bowl he held. “It’s good, I – you’re right, I like it,” he told her as he shoveled another bite into his mouth. “What is it again?”

“Mac and cheese,” she told him as she began eating as well. She walked as she chewed, grabbing the bottle of whiskey as she passed it on her way to the sofa. “You can sit, you don’t have to stand. Sorry I don’t have a ton of furniture yet, I – haven’t had the money.”

“So your husband – did he live here too?” he asked as he took a seat beside her.

“God no, he would never live here,” she laughed as she unscrewed the cap on the whiskey. “We lived in Manhattan – further in the city.”

He nodded as he chewed, like he was thinking. “And you – he still lives in that house? Why did he not – I mean, this is no way to treat your wife, I suppose I’m confused why you’re here while he’s there.”

Abby tipped the bottle and took a large gulp of the whiskey, relishing the way it burned on the way down. “He’s not exactly a good person,” she murmured after smacking her lips. “But I left, too. I mean I just grabbed a bag, threw what I could into it, and luckily found this place the same day.”

“Luckily? This – lass, is this considered a nice place to live?” he sounded hesitant saying it, like he was concerned he would offend her.

“Fuck no,” she answered with her mouth full. “The only way I could get even more rock bottom was if I was actually out on the streets. I don’t even have a car to sleep in.”

“A – what?”

“A car – the things that are always driving on the streets outside,” she gestured to the window.

“Oh – that’s called a car? I was almost hit by one, when I walked out of the rift,” he told her. He finished the last bite of his mac and cheese, again having inhaled his food, and he pushed off the sofa to make his way into the kitchen.

“Did the shirts I buy you not fit?”

“The – oh, I didn’t try,” he admitted.

“Do you not wear shirts?” she teased, raising an eyebrow as she took another swig from the bottle.

“I do,” he laughed. “But my shoulder twinges something awful, I didn’t feel like raising it.”

“Oh right, ibuprofen,” she hopped off the sofa, setting her empty bowl down on the bar cart before she hurried into the bathroom. Again she counted out four pills and took them to where he stood in the kitchen. “I – what are you -”

“I’m washing the dishes, lass,” he told her as he used the hand soap and his hands to wash his bowl. “Or am I doing something wrong?”

“N-no, you’re not, I just – I didn’t expect you to do them,” she answered. She frowned as she thought about it, as her mind made the unbidden comparison to her husband in her mind. “I, um – I need a smoke, I’ll be – yeah.”

Abby set the pills on the bar cart and took the bottle of whiskey with her as she scurried out the window, taking her place on the steps like normal as she dug in her pack for a cigarette and her lighter. Her mind wouldn’t quiet, racing through everything that had happened since the previous evening.

She thought she would focus more on the call from her lawyer, on the money she’d had to spend to buy clothes for Rylen. Instead her mind kept wandering to the concerned frown as she told him she was poor, and the sweet way he kept offering to help her. The image of him doing the dishes, after he had enjoyed her horrible attempt at cooking.

Resting her forehead against the heel of her palm, she brought the bottle to her lips again and drank deeply before she took a drag from her cigarette.

“Are you all right?”

The deep voice made her jump and she looked up, surprised to see him clambering out of the window. It almost looked comical, how much he had to bend to make it through the small opening, but once he managed it he leaned against the railing, frowning at her.

“I’m fine,” she sighed.

“Are you certain, lass?”

“Stop – stop being so nice to me,” she grumbled. “You don’t need to keep checking if I’m all right. I’ve got to be better than you, after all. I’m just dealing with a shit ex, you’re having to deal with -” She gestured with a hand at the city beyond, and he looked out at it as he folded his arms.

“Aye, I’ll be all right though, I’m a grown man, not a wee babe,” he chuckled.

“True, nothing wee about you,” she teased. “Did you take the ibuprofen?”

“Oh, no,” he opened his palm and popped the pills in his mouth before he reached for the bottle she was holding. When he took it their fingers brushed, and she stared wide-eyed as he washed the meds down by drinking straight from the bottle, just as she had been. “Thank you, again, Abby.”

She nodded jerkily as she took the bottle back from him, suddenly hyperaware of the way she was drinking from it as she took another gulp. “Don’t mention it.”

“No, I mean – letting me stay with you, buying me clothes, and you said you were poor, I – I’ll do what I can to repay you,” he assured her firmly. “You saved my life, lass. I’ll never forget it.”

“I -” but she trailed off, unsure of what to say. And he was staring at her so intensely, as if he really meant every word.

Somehow, the day didn’t seem so shitty all of a sudden.


	4. The Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby Angst brought to you by ["Leave" by Matchbox Twenty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzQU2U1XZsg) if you need some mood music.
> 
> The humorous solution toward the end of this chapter brought to you by [dismalzelenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka), whose wonderful and practical (albeit ridiculously funny) suggestion was too good to pass up.

It started as a dull ache in his head, ever present as he looked over the city and the interior of the apartment. But soon it was harder to concentrate, his blinking taking more time, his words lost to him as he tried to speak with Abby. He rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the pain if he could.

The pills she had given him had helped at first, but he noticed that this second set hadn’t helped as much. His head was getting worse, and he knew it would only continue. Light was beginning to hurt, even her soft voice was becoming grating.

“Hey – you all right?” she asked suddenly, frowning at him from the kitchen.

“I – I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “If you’ll – excuse me.”

He pushed himself off the sofa and crossed to the bathroom, luckily making it within and shutting the door before he stumbled. His hands instinctively tried to grab anything to catch himself, and he gripped the counter with his fingers until they ached.

He didn’t have any, he was all out. What he had had as an emergency supply had been used on the field, fighting demons for what may have been days, and he had expected that eventually he would make it back to the village, back to his tent.

If what Abby said was true, and this world, this Brooklyn – or was it Earth? Maker he couldn’t think straight – didn’t have magic, then the chance of it having lyrium was just as likely.

Which meant he was about to be in for a rough time. He’d seen it before, in the Templars it was withheld from as punishment for indiscretions, or the few that had been kicked out of the Order that he had come into contact with. Cullen had told him stories of a Templar named Samson, kicked out and made to beg for lyrium on the streets.

He had watched Cullen going through it, but the Commander had eased himself off, had tapered off until he could do without, gradually, over months and with someone watching him.

This, quitting like this, could kill him.

Turning the faucet he cupped his hands and caught the cool water before he leaned over and began to splash it on his face. Again, and then once more, rubbing his face with his rough palms and then dragging them down his face. He needed to clear the cobwebs from his mind, but no matter what he did it was still foggy, sluggish, and when he opened his eyes he noticed splotches missing from his sight.

Raising his head again he caught his gaze in the mirror, staring intently at his face. He had been through worse. He had almost lost his eye in that fight with a Knight-Enchanter who had fled when Starkhaven burned. He had taken fireballs to the shield, burned by the bits that managed to get past, as well as injuries from other magic he had faced. He had been stabbed, Voids even just the day before he had been in battle with demons falling out of the Fade itself.

This would be child’s play.

As he thought it though he lurched, his head aching as he felt like daggers were running under his skin and living behind his eyes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be _quite_ that simple.

“Hey Rylen, you okay?” the soft call was muffled through the door, and the sound of her knuckles rapping against the door sounded like drums being played right in his ear.

“I’m – I’m fine, lass,” he called back, but his voice cracked and wavered, shaking as he tried to reassure her.

A moment’s hesitation and then the doorknob rattled cautiously for a moment before the door opened. Abby tentatively peeked in, as if she was worried she would find him relieving himself, but when she saw him gripping the countertop with white knuckles she frowned.

“You sure? You don’t look fine,” she muttered as she walked forward. She was peering up at him, her dark brows furrowed, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth as her chocolate eyes wandered over his face. “Is it your injuries? Or -”

“I’m fine, lass, really,” he repeated, shaking his head and doing his best to ignore the way it throbbed when he did.

She considered him for a moment before she sighed and looked away. “You know, I realized – you probably need to get cleaned up, I totally forgot about it,” she said, glancing sideways at him as she walked toward the glass stall in the corner. “I can – well you wouldn’t know what a shower is. Here.”

She opened the door of the stall, and he raised his eyebrows, taking in the tiles on the wall and the odd bottles in a small basket hanging from a metal contraption on the wall.

“So, this is a shower,” she told him, looking over her shoulder. She reached out and turned a silver handle, and water began to pour in a spray from the metal part higher up on the wall. “It’s how we bathe ourselves.”

“I – lass, that’s a smart idea,” he mumbled, trying to focus past the agony in his skull. “I’m assuming to turn it off, I turn the handle again?”

“That’s right, turn it back all the way to the right. And there’s hot and cold,” she gestured at the red to blue paint above the silver handle. “Although honestly just turn it until it feels good to you. I have – here this one is soap. Sorry it smells, um, girly, but it’ll work just fine.”

He smirked as he watched her shake her hand off before she wiped it dry on her pants. “I think I can handle smelling a wee bit delicate if it means getting some of this grime off me.”

The corners of her lips quirked up before she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth again and looked around. “Oh right, a towel. I’ll bring you one.”

She hurried out of the bathing chamber but returned a moment later and passed him a fluffy blue towel.

“Thank you, lass,” he told her, resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut tight. He could tell she was peering up at him with a thoughtful frown, her eyes roaming over his face as if she could read the truth of how he was feeling in his features.

“Of course, you – you don’t have to thank me for everything like it’s life changing,” she muttered finally, looking around the bathroom, anywhere but him. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Aye, lass, I will,” he nodded slightly but instantly regretted it, his head feeling too heavy to hold up. But he was determined to continue on, to keep from worrying her. She had already saved his life once, she didn’t need to do it again.

She didn’t need to take care of him, even though strangely, he didn’t mind the idea.

To be polite, since she had seemed flustered when he changed before, he waited until she left the room before he closed the door and slid out of the soft trousers she had bought for him.

Another thing she had done for him, another thing he needed to repay. If his mind had been able to function, he would have begun to think of how he might.

He stepped into the glass stall and closed the door as he tested the water. It was warm, a welcome relief, and he stared at the silver handle she had used to turn it on before he slid it slightly more to the left. Gradually the water got hotter, and he groaned as he rolled his shoulders and turned to let it run down his back.

Maker, it felt amazing.

The soft pitter-patter of water against his skin was soothing, a soft sliver of bliss, and he let his head hang as the water ran down his neck. He had to stoop slightly to let it run over his head, but when it did he let out another groan, the tension in his skull lessening just a tad – just enough that he didn’t feel like death warmed over.

His muscles were relaxing, his stiff joints feeling vaguely better. And the sensitive, stinging feeling of his skin was relieved ever so slightly, no longer feeling like daggers were pricking him.

It was like his own personal heaven, and he didn’t want to leave it.

For a long time he forgot about needing to clean himself, not paying attention to the way the water running off of him was dirty with the sweat and grime of battle. Instead he focused on the feeling it was sending through him, the relaxation trying to cut through the mess in his mind and body.

When the pounding of his head had worn off the slightest bit, he remembered that he needed to actually bathe, and turned to face the bottles she had gestured at. The one she had particularly pointed at he picked up and popped open, frowning as he did. He held it up to his nose and smelled it, wondering what ‘girly scent’ she meant.

Warm, sweet vanilla, and something slightly nutty that he couldn’t quite place.

He closed his eyes again and inhaled, realizing this had to be the scent that clung to her. It was sugary almost, and he chuckled a little when he thought about how contrary it was to how she presented herself, to how tough and cagey she acted.

Or maybe it was a glimpse at the real her.

He turned the bottle upside down and caught some of the slippery substance in his hand. Soap in this world was strange, so different from the rough bar of soap he was accustomed to. But he used his hand and the bizarre soap to clean himself, strangely delighting in the sweet smell of vanilla. It was comforting, distracting, and he let his mind focus on it instead of the aching in his head.

The water began to get cold, and he turned the handle further to the left, enjoying the water as it heated once more. He continued to roll his shoulders, to let the water simply seep in and relieve the tension that he was carrying in his whole body. He let his mind wander, but tried to keep it away from thoughts of what he had left behind.

Had the battle been won? Had the hole in the sky been fixed? And the young woman they had found, with long black hair and a glowing palm – had they discovered her role in it?

Was Cullen looking for him?

He clenched his eyes shut and leaned one hand against the wall, trying to steady himself and redirect his thoughts. This was like any problem he had ever solved. The lass had that medicine, ibuprofen, for him, and perhaps it could take the edge off. Otherwise, he needed rest, water. He had watched Cullen battling this, he knew it was possible.

Still, though, he found himself nervous. In a foreign land, deprived of lyrium after seventeen years taking it, with only a wee lass to rely on.

And he didn’t want to have to rely on her.

The water finally chilled, and no matter how far to the left he turned the handle it remained cold, and so with a sigh he turned it off. He felt infinitesimally better, at least enough that he thought perhaps he could find sleep if he tried.

The towel she had left for him was soft, so different from the thin, scratchy cloth he had used in Thedas. It was a blessing against his irritated skin, against the way he felt hot and cold, every little thing brushing him feeling like it was a thousand pinpricks that made him shudder.

He pulled the soft trousers back on and looked around for a moment for a place to hang his towel. There was a bar on the wall with another towel on it, and he hesitated just a moment before he placed his over it as well, beside hers.

Pain was still wracking his body though he did his best to ignore it, and he hesitated, trying to pull himself together before he exited the bathing chamber, not wanting to worry her. Instead he realized he could hear something sweet coming from the other side of the door, and he inched closer to listen.

It sounded like music, though it was far different from the lute and other instruments he was used to in Thedas. He wondered what was playing it, and he intended to walk out and ask, but then he heard a voice singing along to a male’s voice, and he realized – it was Abby.

“ _It’s amazing, how you make your face just like a wall. How you take your heart and turn it off, how I turn my head and lose it all_ ,” she was singing softly, and he leaned closer to the door to listen. “ _It’s unnerving, how just one move puts me by myself. There you go just trusting someone else, now I know I put us both through hell_.”

Her voice was raw but beautiful, untrained but delicate, and it tugged at his heart when he heard the way that it cracked slightly as she continued.

“ _I’m not saying there wasn’t nothing wrong, I just didn’t think you’d ever get tired of me_ ,” her voice wavered, and she stumbled slightly on the next lines. “ _I-I’m not saying, we ever had the right to hold on, I just didn’t wanna let it get away from me. But if that’s how it’s gonna leave, straight out from underneath, then we’ll see who’s sorry now_.”

He was rooted to the spot, wanting to listen because it was beautiful, but also because he didn’t have the nerve to interrupt her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she sounded as if she was mourning, as if she needed just a moment to herself. His eyes closed as he listened, finding himself wishing there was something he could do to help. After all, he owed her.

“ _If that’s how it’s gonna stand, when you know you’ve been depending on, the one you’re leaving now, the one you’re leaving out_ ,” there was a pause after those lines, and he considered walking out, trying to act cheerful despite the aching in his head. Before he could decide she began again, and still he was moved by the pained beauty in her tone.

 “ _It’s aggravating, how you threw me on and you tore me out. How your good intentions turn to doubt, the way you needed time to sort it out. I’m not saying, there wasn’t nothing wrong, I just didn’t think you’d ever get tired of me_ -”

But finally her voice cracked and she stopped, and Rylen waited one more moment before he took a deep breath and opened the door. He was in physical pain, but the lass was hurting too, likely because of the – what had she called it? – way her marriage was ending, and the situation she found herself in.

He couldn’t repay her yet, but he could make certain she was all right.

As soon as he opened the door and walked out he felt lost, not knowing what to do as he took in the sight of her. She wiped at her cheeks and averted her gaze for a moment before she reached over to a black, shiny brick resting on the cart and pressed it with a thin finger when it lit up.

The music stopped and she sniffled as she reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a long gulp before she glanced up at him.

“How was your shower?” she asked, clearing her throat when her voice cracked. She took another swig from the bottle, and he realized her eyes were slightly red and watery even though she was trying her best to hide it.

“Excellent, lass,” he said, feigning cheeriness that belied the miserable moods they were both in. “The things you have here – what did you call them? Cool stuff? I think you may be right, they’re – they’re – excellent.”

Mentally he cringed, hating how forced his laugh sounded, how he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say to distract her. But his head was still aching, still having issues focusing on anything.

“Good, I’m glad,” she muttered, staring down at the shiny brick in front of her. “Um, I forgot to get you a toothbrush, if you want you can use mine -”

“A what, la – Abby?” he frowned.

“To – to brush – clean – your teeth,” she explained, her voice still soft and wavering. “I’ll get you one tomorrow when I’m out. In the meantime I bet you want to get some sleep, you can – you can have the sofa, I’m fine on the floor.”

“No, lass,” he immediately disagreed. Even with all his aches and pains, the thought of forcing her to sleep on the floor in her own home was thoroughly inexcusable to him. “I’m fine on the floor, just a pillow is all I need.”

He didn’t quite expect the glare with which she met these words. “Don’t pull that gallant bullshit, you were injured, you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor -”

“And you shouldn’t give up where you sleep just for a simple soldier like me,” he countered, folding his arms across his chest.

She folded hers as well, still glaring at him. “Please don’t argue with me on this, you need rest -”

“And I assume you work and so you do as well,” he interrupted. “No, lass, I won’t let you sleep on the floor.”

“I -” she simply continued to scowl for a moment. “You don’t get to boss me around -”

“I’m not bossing you around, I’m insisting, as your guest, please – don’t make me feel worse, I already owe you enough,” he implored her.

A scowl, for just a few more moments, and then her face relaxed and she heaved a deep sigh, rubbing her forehead with thin fingers. “Fine, but if your shoulder hurts worse tomorrow it’s your own damn fault,” she gritted out. “I’m – I’m going to get ready for bed.”

She pushed past him, closing the bathroom door with a firm snap behind her.

That hadn’t gone at all how he had hoped, and he muttered a curse under his breath as he ran a hand through his damp hair. If he could focus better, he could have thought of a better way to handle that, a better way to see if she was all right or if he could do anything to help.

Curse this blasted, aching head of his.

Growling at himself he snatched up the blanket he had used the night before as well as one of the small pillows on the sofa and threw them both on the ground. If he was stuck here, he needed to find a way to pay her back, to help her out.

In the meantime, he simply needed to survive what his body was about to go through.

One thing at a time.

He flung himself on the ground and stretched before he laid back on the pillow and struggled with the blanket for a few moments. Irritation bloomed in his chest, an annoyance at himself he couldn’t shake.

She didn’t deserve any of this, that much he was certain of; she didn’t deserve him falling into her life, didn’t deserve the way her husband was treating her, didn’t deserve these tiny living quarters or lack of furnishings.

All he could do for the time being was ruminate over it all, his aching head not allowing his body to relax into slumber like he needed. He tried counting rams, closing his eyes and attempting to focus, just as he had for years, his mental fortitude honed by his training with the Order. Only now when he closed his eyes and focused, all he saw was dark eyes swimming with tears.

The door to the bathroom opened and Abby wandered out, shuffling her feet slightly as she tied her hair back into a small bun. She had changed into a loose shirt without sleeves, the thin material showing off the small slopes of her chest, her legs bare except for trousers hardly longer than smalls. With a quick glance his way she picked the shiny brick off the counter, turned the lights off, and made her way to the sofa.

“I have a bigger pillow for you,” she muttered, but when he shook his head in denial she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you, lass, but I’ll be all right,” he assured her, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. None of this was her fault, and so instead he tried to give her a smile. “Good night.”

“Yeah, g’night,” she mumbled, leaning back on a pillow as she curled up on the sofa with a blanket. She reached over the edge for a thin black – cord? – and attached it to the shiny brick.

“What – what’s that, lass?” he gestured at the shiny brick in her hand.

“It’s my phone,” she answered.

“The thing you use to communicate with people?”

“That’s right,” her eyes flitted to him briefly before returning to the now glowing screen of her phone. “It has other uses, too.”

She was answering briefly, simply, not like she was annoyed but like she didn’t feel up for conversation. He wanted to ask more, mostly to distract himself from the ache in his head, but he realized he should give her space instead. Her eyes were still red, and occasionally she sniffed.

For a long time they lay in silence, Rylen staring at the ceiling or glancing at her, trying to ignore the agony worsening throughout his body. It was starting to feel like an itch, his mind conjuring the way he felt right after he injected the lyrium, how powerful, how focused –

Maker he longed for that feeling.

He clenched his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them and glanced at her once more to divert himself from the feeling. She was still holding her phone in both hands, her thumbs moving quickly but silently over the screen, as if she was tapping it.

“Can you not sleep either?” he asked finally.

In the white glow of the screen he saw her smirk a little. “Just feel like writing a little,” she murmured. “Are you – are you having issues sleeping? Need some more ibuprofen?”

“No, I’m fine,” he lied. “You can write on that, too?”

She sighed, but a soft giggle escaped her. “Slowly, but yeah,” she answered. “It’s all I’ve got right now, everything else is still at the penthouse.”

“I see,” he nodded, and they fell back into silence when he decided not to ask her the other questions that came to mind.

He wasn’t certain how much time passed, how long he lay listening to the noise on the streets below and the soft tapping of her fingers on her phone. Eventually he watched as her eyes became heavy, and she fell asleep holding her phone in one hand, her other tucked beneath her cheek.

She almost looked peaceful, like perhaps she was able to forget her troubles just for a while.

In the end, he wasn’t as lucky. When he finally drifted asleep, he dozed fitfully, waking from shooting pains, feeling hot and then cold, clammy and shaking with chills. His toes and fingers cramped painfully, his muscles in his legs twitching.

He was grateful he made it to the toilet when his stomach heaved and he shook all over as he held the sides of the white basin.

“Rylen?”

The sleepy murmur came from the doorway but he couldn’t turn to look at her, instead clenching his eyes and hoping that the nausea would pass. He felt her hand on his back, cool against his clammy skin, but he was too sensitive to touch and he squirmed away from her as he retched again.

“Fuck,” he heard her whisper. She moved away from him, and he could hear her rifling through something. “Fuck fuck fuck, I should have realized – god damn it.”

“Lass, I -” he tried to stutter out, but he rested his head on his arm, still leaning over the white basin. His head felt like it was going to split in two, everything spinning, his stomach churning.

He just wanted it to stop, he wanted _it_ , he needed _it_.

“Just let it out, it’s okay,” she cooed, but he could hear the worry in her voice.

Even in his current state he chafed, not wanting her to worry over him.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the bathing chamber, with Abby alternating rubbing his back and wiping his face with a wet cloth. When he finally finished retching she gave him a pink liquid to swallow, apologizing for the taste as she passed it to him.

It was disgusting, but she insisted it would help. She guided him out of the room, and he could barely manage a protest when she pushed him lightly back onto the sofa and tucked him in.

“Hush and go to sleep – on your side,” she instructed him firmly. “I’m leaving a trash can here next to you, okay? Don’t worry about trying to make it to the bathroom, just – just rest.”

Again, the worried tone of her voice cut at him, but before he could open his mouth to respond, everything went black.

“Hey – hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” a soft voice said to him, and he felt a hand on his cheek.

He jerked up, not sure where he was, what was going on. Starkhaven had been burning, there were still mages trapped inside, children – he had to help them, there wasn’t enough time –

“Shhh, it’s okay,” the voice assured him, and he felt a hand pressing to his chest. His eyes couldn’t focus, the abrupt movement of him sitting up had blurred his vision and made him dizzy, and he clenched his eyelids shut tight.

“I – I have to help -”

“You need to rest, Rylen,” she insisted, and he began to recognize the voice.

Abby. He was in Brooklyn, not Starkhaven. The Circle had burned years ago, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

“I – sorry, lass, I -”

“Here, try to drink a little bit of water, you – you keep getting sick, I’m worried you’re really dehydrated -”

“What?”

He couldn’t remember, he barely remembered anything.

“P-please, Rylen, just a sip, try,” she coaxed, and he felt a glass raised to his lips and tilted. He drank slowly, becoming aware of the sour taste in his mouth as cool water greeted his dry tongue. “Not too much, I – I don’t want you to get sick again.”

But as soon as she said it he felt his stomach heave and he bent over the edge of the sofa. A soft cry of surprise and then a sigh greeted the action, and her hand came to rest on his back, rubbing circles as he retched.

“Fuck,” she muttered softly.

“I’m s-sorry lass -” he slurred, collapsing back on the sofa, and blackness consumed him once more.

“No, I’m sorry, I – something urgent came up, please, if you can get tonight covered for me that would be fucking fantastic,” a soft voice was saying, and he gradually became aware of someone pacing nearby. “I’ll take a boring Tuesday shift, or work Sunday and pull a double, just – please, I really need help.”

She waited for a moment and then heaved a sigh. “Yeah, everything – well no, everything isn’t okay, but it will be just – I can’t make it in,” again she paused. “Fine, it won’t be a trade, just – yes, I realize I’m taking off a Thursday night game, and I made shit yesterday, just – I need tonight off.”

More pacing, the soft slapping of her bare feet on the hard floor marking her passage. He tried to focus on the sound to distract from the way he was shaking, the clamminess of his skin, and his churning stomach. His toes and fingers were still cramping, tightening painfully until he winced.

“Hey, when Michele comes in today can you ask her to call me? I have a favor to ask her, and she hasn’t answered my text, I figure she’s busy at the hospital,” Abby spoke again. “Great, thanks. I – oh fuck – I have to go -”

The last was spoken hurriedly, urgently, and he heard something hit the floor as he leaned over the sofa and retched. He had hardly anything to get out, simply heaving, his stomach empty but clenching painfully.

“Shit – fucking – it’s okay, it’s okay,” she muttered, and he felt a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. She was cradling him almost, her hair tickling his face, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re okay, I’m – I’m – _fuck_ , I’m trying.”

The soft scent of vanilla and something slightly nutty filled his senses, and it was comforting as she continued to wipe his face with the cloth.

“You’ll – you’ll be fine,” she assured him, but her voice wavered like she didn’t believe her own words.

He tried to manage a smile, to tell her not to worry, but the edges of his consciousness slipped away before he could manage more than a murmur of her name.

“Rylen! Hey, Rylen, wake up, come on,” he felt fingers tapping urgently on his cheek and jolted awake. “Rylen, please – wake up.”

“A-Abby, I – what -”

“Thank god,” she muttered.

When his eyes focused on her he saw bags under her eyes, her hair slightly disheveled and not its usual fluffy style. But when he looked at her, she smiled.

“Wh-what – I don’t – I’m sorry, did I sleep all day -” he stuttered out, trying to look around.

“Um, it’s been – a few days,” she told him haltingly. She reached beside her and picked up a glass of water. “Try to drink a little bit, please.”

She held the glass for him, tilting it as she cupped the back of his head so he could drink.

“A few days?” he repeated, surprised. He felt like he had taken a nap, or at least he couldn’t remember much except blackness. “I – I’m sorry, lass, did you – have you been here this whole time?”

“Most of it,” she answered softly. “I um, listen, I got some medicine for you, but – uh, it’s kind of strong stuff.”

“If I’ve been out for a few days maybe I need the strong stuff,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He couldn’t focus, and he almost felt delirious. Maker, he just wanted lyrium, he wanted, needed to feel it –

“This should keep you from getting sick so you can hold in some water, you’re – you’re really dehydrated, I’m worried you’re – you could -” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I need your permission first – well, and I guess your help.”

“Anything to help this blasted ache in my head, lass,” he moaned. Everything was spinning again, he still felt so hot.

“Uh – so, one of my coworkers is studying to be a nurse, and I asked her for these – they’re heavy duty, they’ll stop you from vomiting all the time, which is – what we want,” she sounded nervous, like she was rambling. “The thing is they’re – um – they’re – suppositories.”

“They’re what lass? Speak Common.”

“I speak English, moron,” she sighed.  “So it’s Phenergan, suppositories, they’re – they’re,” she took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut, “it means you take them – you put them in your ass.”

For a moment he thought he misheard her and he quirked an eyebrow, waiting to see if she explained further. But at his silence she peeked one eye open to look at him, as if she was scared of his reaction.

“In – surely you’re having a go, lass,” he chuckled softly.

She heaved a sigh and arched her neck, closing her eyes. “Trust me I wish I was,” she groaned. “Can we just – get this over with? I either do this or deal with you dying on my sofa -”

“I’m not dying -”

“You’re damn near close,” she snapped, shooting him a withering glare before she tugged her trembling bottom lip between her teeth. “Now please, roll over.”

He stared at her for only a moment more before he did as she asked, the sight of her looking so concerned over him tugging at something inside of him. The motion of rolling over made the room spin again, and he clenched his eyes shut. He felt torn between giddiness and nausea, wanting to laugh or simply sleep.

She tugged at the waistband of his soft pants until they were below his ass and he heard her sigh.

“Oh come now, Abby, you’ve seen it once already,” he muttered. “Unless that was a sigh of appreciation?”

“Please don’t -”

“Do I get a kiss before you stick your finger up my bum? After all, that’s common courtesy -”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me -”

“Be gentle with me, lass, it’s my first time -”

“Damn it, Rylen – could you be serious?”

He laughed and rolled his head to the side so he could look at her, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw how flushed and flustered she was. “Why, Abby, I didn’t take you for a bashful lass.”

“You’re the fucking worst, maybe I _should_ let you die on my sofa,” she ground out.

“You wouldn’t do that to someone under your care,” he teased. “Especially not when you can’t stop staring at my bum -”

“Fucking Christ,” she breathed, biting her bottom lip until it was white, as if she was trying to keep herself from retorting.

“I’m just trying to make you more comfortable,” he assured her with a weak bark of laughter.

“By flirting with me while I have my finger up your ass?”

“When else should I do it?”

“How about -”

“Eh lass that’s cold -”

“There, done.”

“Aw, already?”

“I hate you,” she turned her glare back at him, but her eyes were searching his face, her brows furrowed with what looked like concern and not anger.

“No you don’t, lass,” he told her softly, reaching down to pull his pants back up so that he could roll back onto his side.

“That – that should kick in soon and then we can get some Pedialyte into you,” she murmured, looking away from him and sniffing slightly.

“Pedi – what?”

“Electrolytes,” she answered, finally pushing herself to her feet.

“Well, I don’t know what those are, but that word is beautiful when you say it, lass,” he purred.

“I’ve never known anyone could be such a horndog while on the brink of death,” she quipped. “You could hardly finish getting sick before you tried to tell me how great I smell.”

“You do,” he muttered, closing his eyes as drowsiness seeped into his body once more. “You smell wonderful…you can put your finger up my bum anytime, lass…”

“You’re an ass,” were the last words he heard before he fell back into blackness once more.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

His eyes opened slowly, pulling himself out of the deep sleep he’d been in at the sound of her voice.

“Hey,” she greeted again, and he saw her leaning over him, a tender smile on her face. The sun was reflecting off her dark hair, making it shine beautifully golden like a halo, her dark eyes shimmering as she looked over his face.

“I – better,” he murmured, trying to push himself on his elbow.

“Take it slow,” she told him, sitting back on her heels as she watched him. “You need to drink something for me, if you can.”

He nodded, and his head ached with the action, but his stomach didn’t lurch, he didn’t feel dizzy. She opened a square bottle filled with a clear liquid and held it out to him with an apologetic grimace. “It’s not the best tasting, but you need it,” she explained.

“What is it?” he asked as he took it from her. “Water, right lass?”

“No, it’s Pedialyte, it has electrolytes – we need to get you rehydrated,” she shrugged as he took a sip.

It was bland, yet had slightly more flavor and texture to it than water. He took a sip, and then another, and then a few more. For as plain as it was, it was a welcome relief on his tongue, alleviating the feeling of cotton in his mouth.

“I made you some broth too if you can hold this down,” she told him after watching him drink half the bottle. “You – hopefully, after the meds, you should be on the path to recovery.”

“Meds?” he asked with a frown.

She giggled a little and shook her head. “Do you not remember?”

“I – I thought I had a dream you gave me something.”

Abby rolled her eyes and sighed. “Definitely not a dream, although maybe I should have just let you keep thinking it was,” she muttered.

He smirked and took another gulp of the Pedialyte. “Small price to pay to keep your sofa free of dead men,” he teased.

“Yeah I guess,” she agreed softly, tugging at the bottom of her black shirt. “Although I could have done without the sexual harassment.”

“Harassment? You were the one with your finger up my bum.”

“Don’t remind me, pervert,” she teased.

“Pervert? I would never, lass.”

She shot him an accusatory glare. “Liar,” she said.

He chuckled, and she continued to glare at him before the corners of her mouth tugged up slightly. She cleared her throat again and looked away.

“How did you know about that medicine, lass? Is it common? You said you weren’t a healer, I – I suppose I’m surprised to still be here if I was as bad as you say,” he watched her carefully as he spoke, noticing that her lips tightened slightly.

“I – my mother was sick, a few years ago,” she answered, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “I took care of her.”

“I’m certain she’s grateful she has you,” he told her. “I know I certainly am.”

“I – I’m sure she was,” Abby murmured, and her brows knitted together for a moment before she suddenly pushed herself to her feet. “Let me get you some broth.”

He frowned as he watched her cross to the kitchen to stir a pot that was on the stove. Her reaction was puzzling, and it took him a moment to realize she had spoken as if about the past when she agreed with him. His heart ached as he watched her moving about the apartment, getting a mug of broth ready for him. She had been through so much pain, that was becoming clearer and clearer every moment he spent with her, and yet she was still trying her best, still helping out a stranger like him.

Twice now she had saved his life, and he was beginning to wonder if he could ever truly repay her.


	5. Prince Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's Face Claim  
> 

_I just didn’t think you’d ever get tired of me._

The song had been stuck in her head for days, ever since it came up on her Pandora. Abby wanted to forget the words, she wanted to forget that she knew it, but her mind taunted her and kept it on a loop. She didn’t want to miss him, she didn’t want her heart to be broken, but eight years – the heart couldn’t forget that easily.

Instead, she tried to remind herself constantly of her situation, of the way things had ended and forced her where she was now.

One hundred and fifty dollars.

She was one hundred and fifty dollars short for her rent, and it was due in two days. But the next two days, Monday and Tuesday, were the slowest days and she knew she couldn’t make enough, especially since no one would let her cover their Tuesday to make extra money on her day off.

Her co-workers were pissed, management had warned her she was walking a thin line. But Rylen had been near death on her sofa, and she had called in – more than once.

Now as she stared at the stack of cash in her hand and the insignificant amount in the bank account displayed on her phone, she heaved a sigh and fought back tears.

She didn’t even really have anything to pawn, since she was already scraping the bottom of the barrel with her belongings, owning the bare minimum needed to function. A constant crick was in her neck, a stiffness from sleeping on the sofa for weeks, and then on the floor for over a week when Rylen was suffering his withdrawals.

Any doubts she had about whether or not he was the real thing had fled as she watched him slowly dying from quitting lyrium cold turkey. Watching him shake violently, feverish and delirious, getting sick with increasing frequency as the days had progressed, had helped to finally cement the reality of him.

Her rug was ruined from the few times he had missed the trash can, and she’d thrown it in the dumpster in the alley and ignored his questions about where it had gone. Just another item added to the growing list of shit she didn’t have time for, to which she was adding daily.

The most recent item was the lengthy showers he had started taking, especially as he recovered. At first she bit her tongue, letting him indulge and try to heal. But now, the idea of what her water bill was going to look like in the middle of the month was making her chafe.

She needed to go. She’d have to, there was no way around it.

And as much as she wanted to, she didn’t let herself drink whiskey to steel herself, since it was a Sunday and she knew what that would likely mean. She refused to show up smelling like whiskey.

“Everything all right, lass?”

The voice pulled her out of her anxious thoughts, and she wadded up the cash again as she glanced toward the bathroom. He was shuffling out, tousling his damp chestnut hair with a hand. Deep bags were under his eyes, his skin slightly ashen instead of how tanned and ruddy he had looked before.

And he still refused to wear a shirt.

“It’s fine,” she grumbled, stuffing the wad of cash into a black and white polka dot jar.

He frowned and came to stand next to her, positively towering over her. “Are you certain? You seem -”

“I just – I’m -” she tripped over her words, fighting the urge to tell him. She didn’t need his comfort, or the way she suspected he’d offer to accompany her. “Hey could you maybe lay off the hour-long showers? Water isn’t free, you know.”

The rebuke escaped her lips before she could stop it, snapping at him instead of confiding in him. His brows furrowed even deeper and he glanced back at the bathroom, almost looking bashful.

“Someone owns the water?” he sounded flabbergasted. “That’s – unusual.”

“Well that’s just how things are,” she muttered under her breath as she grabbed the jar in one hand and used the other to pull herself onto the counter beside the sink. She pushed onto her knees and stretched up with one arm, placing the ceramic jar on top of the cabinets.

“What are you doing, lass?” he asked, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was leaning casually against the bar cart, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her with an eyebrow cocked.

“Hiding my money,” she said, carefully climbing down from the counter once the jar was secure.

“I’m not going to steal from you -”

“Not from you,” she sighed. “This isn’t exactly a safe place.”

“Luckily you have me, then,” he mused. “After all, they’d have to go through me and – well, let’s just say I don’t like their odds. They’d have to be batty to try.”

“You haven’t seen a gun yet,” she murmured absently, grabbing her purse off its hook.

“A what?”

“A weapon,” she answered. “Listen, I have to run an – an errand, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Let me go -”

“No, it’s fine,” she insisted, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She wasn’t annoyed with him, not really, and he didn’t deserve her snapping at him for things he didn’t do. “Just take a nap, you still need your rest.”

“No, lass, I can -” he began to protest, pushing off the bar cart and taking a few steps forward.

“Really, Rylen, just – stay here,” she pointed at the sofa. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He sighed and grumbled slightly under his breath, but she opened the door and stepped out into the hall before he could try to persuade her. Bringing him with her wasn’t an option, even if the extra help would be welcome, if she was completely honest with herself.

Instead of letting him come with her, instead of taking a few pulls from the bottle of whiskey like she longed to, she locked the door and ran down the stairs.

Her mind raced, her stomach clenching the entire time she navigated the subway. In and out, just in and out – she could do this.

When she emerged from the station onto the street, it was like entering another world.

Her old world.

It felt so different, even after just a few weeks away. But the trees were blooming now, the tiny verdant leaves lining Central Park across the way, and she sighed when she saw pops of cherry blossoms and other blooming trees peeking through the vegetation. They were such a beautiful contrast to the grey of the sidewalks and buildings, and for a moment she stopped and wondered at the splendor.

This wasn’t home anymore.

That sad thought pulled her out of her reveries, and with one last deep breath she hurried along the street.

“Mrs. Baker! I was beginning to wonder if I’d be seeing you again soon,” the doorman greeted her with a wide grin.

“Hey, Steve,” she managed a small smile. “How have you been?”

“Oh fine, fine,” he chuckled and pulled the door open for her. “Listen, I was sorry to hear about – you know – I always enjoyed our chats.”

She nodded, but the smile faded. “Yeah, well – that’s life,” she sighed. “How are Nancy and the kids?”

“The youngest is growing like a weed,” he shook his head. “I swear I turn around and he’s three inches taller, every time – the kid’s all arms and legs.”

Abby giggled. “Sounds about right.”

“Otherwise they’re fine,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, Steve, but thank you,” she nodded as she passed him and finally entered the building. “I’ll see you later.”

“Of course, Mrs. Baker,” he called after her.

She didn’t bother correcting him.

Her Converse slapped against the marble floor of the lobby, each echoing step heralding what she was about to face.

_In and out._

She took a deep breath as she pounded the button for the elevator, fumbling in her pocket for her key. Maybe he wouldn’t be there, maybe _she_ wouldn’t be there. It was Sunday, maybe they were out.

_In and out._

The elevator dinged and she stepped inside, slamming the button for the right floor. It used to be this ride up made her happy, thinking about the home she was returning to, the haven that awaited her.

Now she was only filled with dread.

When the lift stopped, she hurried out the doors as soon as they parted, tapping the key against her palm as she crossed the hall. After another deep breath and a pause, she put the key in the door.

It didn’t turn.

“What the – you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered, trying to jiggle it, rattling the doorknob as she did. “Fucking locks -”

The door opened suddenly, tugging her key out of her hand as it swung wide.

“Abby,” John greeted her with a sly smile as he leaned one arm on the door. “You should have called, I would have put on some coffee. Or maybe opened a bottle of wine?”

“J-John, I -” she tried to hide the surprise from her voice, tried to steady herself and stand straight, hiding the way her composure immediately went out the window. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

“Just taking a lazy Sunday, but you’re welcome to come in,” he stepped back and gestured with his hand.

_Don’t do it._

But she did, crossing the threshold as she pushed her hair behind her ear. She was trying to fight the feeling, the same one that always came over her, coming apart just because of a smile.

Glancing at him over her shoulder, she tried to conjure the image of their fights, of the way he could sneer. It was difficult, since he still had that sly smile on his face, the wrinkles at the corner of his piercing grey eyes pronounced as he looked her over.

“You look tired, gorgeous,” he commented casually, closing the distance between them and peering down at her with a slight frown on his face. “Life in Brooklyn keeping you up?”

“I’m – I’ve just been busy working,” she answered automatically, and she folded her arms tight against herself, as if that could protect her from the look he was giving her.

It was Sunday, so his hair was disheveled instead of smoothed down, messy salt and pepper strands sticking up every which way. He had a few days of scruff on his chiseled jaw, and he ran a hand over it as he smirked at her, his other hand in the pocket of his dark jeans.

“You’re working too hard then, you’ve lost a bit of your luster.”

It was enough to rally her spirits, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Gee, I wonder why that is,” she observed, her tone icy.

His smile always came so easily, perfect white teeth sparkling against tanned skin from his daily jogs through Central Park. Grey eyes flicked up and down her body and he shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Abby, having to change the locks, fighting through lawyers,” he told her, his tone deep and evocative. “You know, technically you’re not supposed to be here -”

“You can’t hold my shit hostage, though,” she snapped, taking a slight step back to put some distance between them.

“I’m not, Abby, but this is how things go – it’s contested, so we should have a mediator present, work through third parties,” he sighed and shook his head. “I tried to tell you I didn’t want things to go this way -”

“How’s Jenna?” she interrupted, narrowing her eyes.

He stared at her for a moment before he chuckled and shook his head, looking down at his feet. “Abby, don’t be like this,” he told her. “We had such good times together, gorgeous.”

“And now they’re over,” she murmured. Eight years couldn’t be forgotten overnight.

“They don’t have to be,” he raised his gaze to hers again.

“Would you give her up?” Despite herself, her tone almost sounded hopeful, pained.

She hated herself for even asking.

But she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer her directly. “So, gorgeous, what brought you here on a Sunday?”

“I’m assuming you’d be able to figure it out,” she said through clenched teeth. “I need some more of my stuff, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

He laughed. “And you’re going to, what – carry it on the subway back to Brooklyn?” he raised a dark eyebrow. “Let me give you a hand -”

“I don’t need a hand from you – or anything else,” she snapped, and she finally spun on her heels and marched across the expansive living room. Ignoring the décor, the items she wanted, the furniture she missed, she continued to the stairs and hurried up them.

She didn’t let herself think about the space, the home she had given up. She didn’t let herself draw comparisons between this and her new home, the sofa she had been sleeping on – the floor she was now sleeping on because of Rylen’s withdrawals.

There it was, the beautiful, modern and minimalist four poster bed she had chosen, sheer dove grey curtains elegantly draped over the top and sides. Pillowtop bed, several luxurious pillows, and a satiny white and grey duvet, all looking incredibly inviting and tempting. She wanted to throw herself on it, she wanted to strip down and slide between the Egyptian cotton sheets and never climb out.

Growing up she had slept on a rickety Murphy bed that she had to pull out each night before she went to sleep, with sheets with holes, threadbare blankets barely enough to keep her warm in the winter. When she picked out the four poster after their wedding, she was fulfilling a wish she had always had – a canopy bed, sheer curtains to let the sunlight in every morning, a tender man leaning over her and telling her he loved her.

Happier times, times she wasn’t sure she’d ever have again. Times she wasn’t sure she’d actually ever really had, considering everything that had happened.

Had he ever actually loved her?

His footsteps were following her through the penthouse, long, confident strides echoing on the hardwood floors. She didn’t look back at him, unwilling to make eye contact. She hesitated in the middle of the bedroom with him not far behind her – if she met his gaze would she cave, would they fall back onto the bed she longed for?

He was dangerous, like getting too close to fire. All heat and temptation, but if she reached out for him she’d only get burnt.

“Nice to see she hasn’t ruined everything yet,” Abby observed, letting her voice carry over her shoulder, but she still resisted turning around to see the scowl she was certain met her words.

“I may repaint the walls,” he mused from behind her. “The grey, just – something about it.”

Abby bit her lip and ignored commenting, knowing he was trying to get a rise out of her. She made her way to their large walk-in closet and pulled two large totes off a shelf. Hardly paying attention, she haphazardly yanked some of her clothes off hangers and shoved them into the canvas bags.

“Need any help?” he asked casually, and despite herself she glanced at him. He was leaning against the doorway, his tanned, muscular arms folded, emphasized by the blue of his polo shirt.

“I can get it – that is, if you’ll let me take _my_ belongings out of the house?” she almost sneered.

“Of course, Abby, whatever you need,” he shrugged. “I can pack you up some of the other items too. Do you need food? You look so tiny, have you been -”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, ignoring the way her hands shook as she began to shove designer heels into the bags on top of the clothes.

“You’ll wear yourself thin. I worry about you,” he sighed. “You look like eight years ago, living off broth and cigarettes, stumbling drunk after one shot of whiskey -”

“Perfect prey for an asshole like you,” she interjected, glowering at him.

“You know that’s not true,” he told her softly. “I’ve always loved you -”

“You love the idea of me,” she countered, lifting the heavily laden totes and slinging one each over her shoulder.

“Let me carry one of those -” he reached out but she avoided his grasp.

“No, I’ve got them -”

“Are you really going to shuck those all the way back to Brooklyn like some kind of Sherpa?” he gave her a pointed look. “Let me drive you home.”

“No.”

Her heart was racing, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

_Don’t do it._

“Abby, you don’t need to prove a point and lug that home on your own,” he shook his head and smirked. “Let me take care of you, you can take the TV from the guest room and a few pots and pans too. I worry about you, living in that shithole -”

“Oh, you worry about me?” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “That’s funny, you didn’t seem to give a shit when you sprang the divorce on me and made sure I couldn’t access the accounts -”

“A misunderstanding,” he insisted, holding his hands out. “Gorgeous, the law is what it is -”

“Yes, it is, and you knew _exactly_ what you were doing,” she spat. “You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t know that would happen. Christ, John, you’re a partner at your firm -”

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that,” he maintained. “But we can work it out -”

“N-not interested,” she grumbled, and she tried to push past him with the totes still over her shoulders.

He grabbed her arm and tugged her back toward him, raising his other hand and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Come on, let me drive you home,” he repeated.

Clove and citrus filled her nostrils as he leaned closer to her, reminding her of better times, of the way it felt to be in his arms. Ever since that first night, she had always reveled in how the scent clung to her, giddy when she caught a whiff that reminded her of the way he’d pinned her to the bed and made her lose her mind.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly and she worried her lip again with her teeth.

_Don’t do it._

But the idea of carrying everything back with her on the subway was more than a little daunting, more than a little discouraging. Carrying the remnants of her old life in two bags, returning to an apartment that was bare and served as a reminder of how she’d been cast aside.

_I just didn’t think you’d ever get tired of me._

Looking up at him she wondered if she really had been pushed out, if he really was trying to replace her. Twinkling grey eyes were nearly undressing her, undoing her with their intensity, until she was tempted to lean into him and bury her face against his chest.

Eight years – all of her twenties, over a third of her life. The habit and longing was hard to shake.

“Come on, gorgeous, I’ll get everything loaded up,” John murmured, and he took one of the tote bags from her.

She couldn’t muster the resolve to protest, to tell him no. Instead she let him take the bag and followed him through the apartment. Self-loathing coursed through her, tangling with the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach when he shot her a smirk. So easy, it had always been so easy – he simply smiled and she was ready to fall to her knees, to do anything he asked her to do, eager to please and desperate for him.

No protests came to her lips when he stopped in the kitchen and set the bag down. He packed up her French press in a towel before he hesitated. Taking one of the knives from the magnetic strip above the counter, he wrapped it in a second towel.

“John -” she began, rolling her eyes to distract from the odd ache in her heart. It was the knife made of Damascus steel, the one that had been made especially for them for their wedding.

“You should have it, Abby,” he told her with a slight wink. “Maybe it’ll help you learn to cook, finally.”

Her jaw clenched and she tightened her hold on the tote bag on her shoulder. He was teasing, he was trying to irritate her. She couldn’t let him.

“Is there anything else you want, gorgeous? That TV in the guest room is available, and we could get you set up with cable -”

“I’m fine without it,” she gritted out.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged as he slung the tote over his shoulder again. “Do you have everything? Even if you don’t you can always come back, I’ll be more than happy to help you make a few trips. All you have to do is call.”

“This should be it for a while,” she told him. “At least until things are finalized.”

He sighed and shook his head slightly as he grabbed his keys off the hook on the wall. “In that case, I guess I’ll take you back to Brooklyn.”

She made certain there was space between them on the elevator on the way down, staring straight ahead and not glancing his way, realizing she was walking a fine line. If he winked or smirked at her again, she wasn’t sure she could resist.

When they walked across the lobby she tried not to notice the easy way he sauntered, the way he nodded at everyone they passed. Steve held the door open and greeted them both, sounding slightly surprised.

Abby’s insides twisted and she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring the man’s polite conversation as they waited for John’s car to be brought around by the valet. She couldn’t engage, she couldn’t listen to him call them Mr. and Mrs. Baker.

_I just didn’t think you’d ever get tired of me._

The song was still looping through her mind, and she couldn’t glance aside at John, worried what would happen if he saw her looking melancholy at the sight of him. Heartbreak was difficult no matter what, no matter how things were ending.

That was what she told herself, though she struggled to believe it all the way. She wanted to hate him, wanted to be angry, wanted to rant and rave.

But instead she found herself standing calmly beside him, resisting the urge to lean against his side as the valet brought around John’s black Beamer SUV. It was only one of the cars, and yet she knew he’d chosen that one specifically.

It was her favorite.

“Let me help you, Abby,” he murmured, taking the tote from her shoulder after he deposited the one he had held in the back seat. “Do you need to stop anywhere else first?”

“N-no,” she muttered, quickly circling around to the passenger side door. She shouldn’t have accepted, she didn’t want to be alone in the car with him.

Steve held the door open for her, and she nodded jerkily at him as she climbed in. The smile she tried to give him probably came out more as a grimace, and she hated how tense she felt. But Steve simply nodded and closed the door, circling back to stand beside the door to the building. John took his spot in the driver’s seat, and she kept her gaze on anything but him as he pulled out into traffic.

“Everything’s blooming, it seems so early,” John commented absently as they drove along Central Park. “It’s made my runs so beautiful – I remember you used to love the cherry blossoms. I think about you when I -”

“Don’t,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “I – I appreciate the ride, but this doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make us -”

“Gorgeous, we were never ones to stay mad for long,” he told her. The sound of his voice was wistful, suggestive. “We don’t have to be now. This can all blow over, we can work through it -”

“No,” she insisted, closing her eyes and turning her face away from his. “Please, just – I want to go home.”

“It’s not your home, though, not really,” he remarked.

She bit her bottom lip, staring out the window and ignoring his comment. How far was it to Brooklyn?

Tuning out most of what he said, she hardly noticed the drive until they were at the Brooklyn Bridge. Somehow, being able to see her apartment building almost grounded her, reminding her of her reality.

This, the false chivalry, driving her home – it was all a show. John was still the man she had caught asking his young paralegal for nudes.

“Don’t you think, gorgeous?” he asked more pointedly, and she finally glanced his way when she realized he had been trying to catch her attention.

“Sorry? I was focusing on literally anything else,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I – I was saying that you must like being this close to the river,” he repeated, but she could tell he was annoyed she hadn’t been hanging on his every word.

“It’s a nice part of town, free from sharks,” she mused, allowing herself to smirk at the irritation she could see on his face.

She only had to direct him to parking, and she realized that meant he had memorized her address, had spent time learning where she lived now. It was all over court documents, it wasn’t a huge secret. But the knowledge that he knew exactly where she lived and could find it so easily – it made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t fully grasp.

“I’ll help you carry everything in,” John said as he turned the engine off.

“You don’t need to -”

“I want to,” he told her.

It was a mistake to glance sideways at him – it meant that she caved instantly at the look on his face.

“All right,” she sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding out of the SUV onto the sidewalk.

He handed her one of the totes and slipped the other over his shoulder, looking up and down the street. ”Quaint little place,” he muttered.

Her teeth clenched, grinding as she resisted the retort that came to mind. She pulled the tote tighter on her shoulder and led him to the building, buzzing them in and heading straight for the stairs.

“The elevator looks like a safety hazard, I’m amazed they’ve gotten away with it,” he mused.

“Please don’t, don’t do that lawyer thing you do where you pick everything apart -” she groaned.

“I’m just observing, gorgeous,” he sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you living in these conditions -”

“I’m fine,” she gritted out, hiking the bag on her shoulder as they reached the third floor. She turned to him and held her hand out. “Here, I’ve got it from here, thanks for the help -”

“No, Abby, it’s fine, I can carry it in for you,” he insisted. “315, right?”

“I -” she fell silent, and then turned with a huff and walked toward her door. “You can set it down -”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” he teased lightly. “I could take you out to dinner, there’s supposed to be a great Chinese place nearby -”

“John, what the fuck are we doing?” she sighed, blurting it out before she could help herself. “I just – seriously? We’re fighting in court but now you want to take me to dinner, you drove me home?”

He took a step toward her, setting the tote bag at his feet as he closed the distance between them. “I told you I didn’t want to fight,” he murmured, and he reached with a hand and brushed her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. He let his thumb linger, he let his fingertips drift over her cheek. “We could make it work, we could go to counseling, anything. I’m willing to fight for you, gorgeous.”

“I – J-John, I – where was that attitude months ago? I tried,” her voice cracked as she backed into the wall, and he took more steps forward until he was filling her vision. “I _tried_.”

“I should have tried harder, Abby,” he told her, his fingers still tracing over her cheek, his thumb running over her lips. “Maybe you wouldn’t have slipped away if I had, if we had -”

He was leaning closer, citrus and cloves overwhelming her senses, the sight of him this close to her conjuring memories she had been trying to ignore. But she couldn’t raise her voice to protest, couldn’t deny him as he leaned toward her.

She was detestable, her knees weakening as she remembered the way he had always taken her, the way he had commanded her body and soul. Her eyes closed, and all she knew was that she’d hate herself tomorrow.

“Oh there you are, lass,” a deep voice cut in. “Is – is he bothering you?”

And just like that, the spell was broken.

“R-Rylen -” she stuttered out, pushing John away, trying to gather her senses. “I – um -”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” John demanded, folding his arms across his chest as he glared at Rylen.

To her surprise, Rylen stood straighter, also folding his arms across his broad, bare chest. “I might ask you the same question. Lass, are you all right?”

“I – I’m fine,” she muttered, flustered under the intense stare Rylen was giving her. “He was just helping me carry my things in.”

“Aye, he’s certainly trying to help do something,” Rylen said, and when she caught sight of his face apprehension flooded her at the way his eyes narrowed as he regarded John.

“Abby, gorgeous, please – tell me you’re not living with this tattooed _hobo_ ,” John turned a questioning gaze to her.

“Hobo?” Rylen repeated, and he turned an equally bemused frown to Abby.

“I – damn it, John, I told you – I’m not – under your thumb anymore,” she pushed at his chest, ensuring that he stumbled away from her. “Whatever my living situation -”

“I just – living with a – a hobo, I – Abby, come back to the penthouse,” John stuttered out, letting his eyes roam over the tall, broad form of Rylen standing in her apartment doorway. “I’ll make certain you’re taken care of, like you deserve to be -”

“So you’re the husband?” Rylen mused, dragging his hand down his chin. “Interesting to hear you talk about helping the lass when you’ve led to her living in a place like this.”

“Is that what she’s told you?” John challenged. “I’m not sure someone like you could understand -”

“Someone like me?” Rylen raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I just mean – a Scottish thug with tattoos and scars on his face – Jesus, Abby, did you pick him up from Rikers or something?” John glared between Rylen and Abby, taking a step closer as if he meant to protect her.

“Even if I did it’s none of your damn business,” she gritted out. “Thanks for the ride, John – it’s been a whirlwind, like always. Now if you’ll excuse me -”

“Abby, gorgeous, please -”

“Stop calling me that!” she finally snapped, her voice rising. “It’s – it’s over, John. This is my home and my life now, got it? You don’t get to come here and – and feign concern over me -”

“It’s not fake, gor – Abby, I know I messed up -” his phone started ringing and he reached into his pocket, intending to turn it off. But when he did, she saw the contact name, the picture.

Her insides turned icy and she resisted the urge to grab his phone and throw it against the wall. “You’re right, John, you did,” she told him, her tone low and dangerous. “Better answer, if I remember right Jenna doesn’t like waiting her turn.”

She tuned out his protests, grabbing both of the tote bags, and Rylen stepped aside to let her into the apartment before he firmly slammed the door in John’s face.

As soon as she was inside she set the bags down and crossed to the bar cart, picking up the bottle of whiskey and opening it with trembling fingers. She took several deep gulps, ignoring the way it burned, the way her eyes stung, simply trying to steady herself.

It took her a moment to realize that Rylen was standing by the door, leaning his head toward it as if listening. Finally he stepped away and turned to face her, a deep frown on his face. “He’s gone, lass,” he told her.

She simply nodded and took another gulp of whiskey, not trusting her voice.

_He’s gone._

The words tugged at something deep inside her, and she turned away from Rylen so that he couldn’t see the tears that sprang to her eyes.

“Did he – are you all right, Abby?” he asked, and his voice was tender, lower than normal.

“I – I’m -” she tried to say ‘fine,’ but the word wouldn’t come out.

“Lass,” he murmured, and his hand on her shoulder made her jump and step away, reaching with an arm to brush him off.

“Don’t – I’m _fine_ -” she snapped, but her voice cracked, that simple gesture undoing the tenuous composure she had had. Tears began to slide down her cheeks, a sob escaped her throat, and before she could stop herself she slid to the floor, leaning against the oven. She buried her face in her hands, unable to stop, hating that she was weak, that she was caving and letting anyone see her like this.

“Abby, it’s all right,” he said, and she felt arms beginning to wrap around her shoulders.

“Stop – don’t – I’m -” she tried pushing against him, but it was useless.

“Lass, you’re not fine,” he pointed out. “I hate seeing you cry, come here -”

“I don’t want – don’t be nice to me,” she choked out, but he still insistently pulled her into his arms, sitting facing her on the floor.

He smelled like her soap, vanilla and shea butter, and it was comforting as he tucked her head against the crook of his neck. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other rubbed soft circles on her back. She gave in, no longer trying to push away, instead nuzzling her face against his hot skin. He was still slightly feverish, but the heat was welcome, soothing, and she melted into his arms.

How much time passed she wasn’t sure, unaware of anything but the aching in her chest, the tears that streamed unheeded until her cheeks and his neck were covered in salty water. The past month’s struggles, the past year’s agony overwhelmed her, the dam finally broken until she wasn’t certain she could ever stop crying.

And still, Rylen held her tightly against him, softly rocking as he rubbed her back.

“Did he hurt you, lass?” he asked after what felt like an eternity.

“Yes,” she murmured, resting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart race under her palm. “But not in the way you mean.”

In response he simply pulled her closer, and she marveled a little at how much comfort she was feeling from the way he was holding her.


	6. Play to Your Strengths

The water was frigid, and his hands moved quickly over his skin as he rushed to clean himself. As much as he wanted to heat the water, he knew he shouldn't. Then he'd just be tempted to linger, and he didn't want to cost the lass any more than he already had. He was feeling better, now mostly dealing with aches and pains that were bearable and easily endured. Holding down food and water was helping, even if he wasn't quite certain what some of the food she was feeding him was. Everything was still so strange, but he tried not to think about it too much lest it made his head hurt worse.

Instead he tried to clear the cobwebs with the bracing cold water, trying to formulate a plan. He needed to pay her back, he needed to find a way to help her. This may be a strange world to him, but he wasn't a useless lad, and he wouldn't live off the lass like a layabout. He refused to let her support him if he was going to stay here, and it didn't seem like he had any other option or place to go.

No way back.

He turned the freezing water off, hoping that his barely one minute shower wouldn't cost her too much. The idea of someone owning the water was batty, but she'd said that was how things were. Better get used to it.

As he dried himself off he thought about the events of the day before, of the way she had come home, followed by her husband. Her voice had pulled him from sleep, and when he had heard a man's voice and noticed she sounded upset, he had bolted off the sofa immediately, concerned she was in danger. In a way, he'd been right to worry.

He was surprised that her husband was so much older than her, and also that he had had her cornered, trying to kiss her. From what Abby had said, he had ended things, and Rylen couldn't guess what game he had to be playing at to try to kiss her. Then again she was a beautiful, smart lass, maybe he simply regretted letting her go.

All Rylen knew was that he hadn't cared for him, had hated the way he had acted like a puffed up Orlesian noble. He'd have to keep an eye out, and make certain he didn't come around again to cause trouble. The lass didn't deserve it, and the least he could do was protect her.

He dressed himself in the sturdy dark blue breeches she had bought for him, recognizing that they must be the standard pant everyone wore since both Abby and her husband wore them as well. One of the shirts she had bought for him was patterned like plaidweave, only not as garishly colored. It had small buttons, and his fingers felt clumsy as he fastened them. But he was feeling better, and he intended to see if he could help her today. He had laid around relying on her long enough.

“Did you actually take a shower?” Abby asked as he walked out of the bathing chamber. She was sitting on the floor sorting through some of the items she had brought back with her, which she had ignored the previous evening. Her eyes were still red and slightly puffy from how much she had cried, but she managed a small smirk at the sight of him. “Glad to see those clothes fit.”

“Aye, they do, thank you lass,” he agreed, pulling slightly at the collar of the shirt.

“Here,” she pushed herself to her feet and walked over to him, her brows furrowed a little. She undid a few of the top buttons, letting his collarbone and the top portion of his sternum show. “This is acceptable too, you don't have to wear it all the way buttoned if you're not at a job interview or something.”

“Thank you, lass,” he nodded, feeling relieved now that the collar wasn't choking him.

“Hey so I have a few errands to run before work, and I was hoping you felt up to coming with me?” she peered up at him, almost a little hesitantly.

“Of course, anything I can do to help,” he said, so quickly that she raised her eyebrows a little. “I just - I don't do well with being cooped up or useless, I'd rather you let me help as much as I can.”

“Right,” she muttered, and she went back to sorting the items. “I'll be ready to go soon, we need to make a few stops.”

She continued to grumble a bit to herself as she sorted things in piles. It was clothes and shoes the likes of which only nobles wore in Thedas.

“What are you doing, lass?” he asked as he walked forward.

“Sorting out which pieces of my life I'm going to sell,” she sighed. “I'm - I'm short money for rent, considering - well, anyway. I need to make the money fast. May as well sell some stuff, not like I need designer clothes anymore anyway.”

He noticed there was a shiftiness in the way she said she was short money, and he realized why. Because of him. Because she had had to feed, clothe, and take care of him. His insides twisted with guilt as he watched her sorting her belongings, and he felt even more determined to find a way to help her.

When she had finished sorting her belongings and he had pulled his boots on, she grabbed her purse as well as the bag of belongings before she looked at him expectantly. “Ready?”

“Aye,” he nodded, following her out the door. It was strange; he had been here for a while now but hadn't yet left beyond the hallway outside her apartment since that first night. He felt full of curious wonder, and a slight bit of apprehension.

“We'll have to get you new shoes,” she commented absently, glancing at his feet as they made their way down the stairs.

“No, these are fine -” he began to protest, but she shook her head.

“We need you to blend in,” she sighed. “And that's tough enough with tattoos on your face.”

“Do people not have tattoos on their faces? I know you have some on your shoulder and your arm -” he began, remembering the intricate rose she had on her shoulder and the one that looked like writing on her forearm.

“And my back, yeah,” she told him, and he realized he hadn't seen that one but suddenly wanted to. “But not many people get them on their faces here. Why did you, by the way? I've always wondered.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

She frowned a little as they left the building. “And the Templars didn't have an issue with that?”

“Why would they? Didn't have an effect on how I performed my duties,” he answered. He stopped on the smooth, grey stone path they were on, taking a moment to adjust. It was loud, cars speeding by, dozens of people walking past at a rapid pace. The bustle was slightly overwhelming and jarring, far more so than the bustle of Starkhaven or Kirkwall.

“You okay?” Abby asked, stepping closer to look up at him. In the sunlight her chocolate brown eyes lightened and almost looked golden, and he smiled as he held her worried gaze.

“I'm fine, lass, just needed a moment to get my wits about me,” he assured her, burying the apprehension he felt about his strange new world.

“Feel free to ask anything but maybe - keep your voice down when you do,” she told him, glancing around as she lowered her voice. “I'm fine answering, just maybe don't want people to notice that you're asking me obvious things like - what a bicycle is, or something.”

“Aye,” he agreed, but after a moment he frowned. “What, uh - what is a bicycle, lass?”

She looked around for a moment and then pointed. “That. It's another way to get around. Some people ride them for fun, some for exercise, others because they're practical in a city like this.”

He watched as a man glided past them, straddling metal connected to two wheels, his feet seeming to help propel him by pressing on small levers. “That's clever. Who - how long -”

“Few hundred years, I think,” she shrugged and gestured for him to follow her.

“How many ages have you had?” he asked as he fell into step with her.

“Oh, right, we uh - we do our time and years a bit differently here,” she told him. “It's twenty-eighteen. Oh, um - two thousand and eighteen.”

“Your world is two thousand years old?” he raised his eyebrows as he looked around at the buildings they were passing.

“No, it's billions of years old, and there was time before these last two millennia - we should find out if you can read English too, we could get you some history books or something.” Her answers were becoming distracted again, and he realized it was because she was looking at the brightly colored signs on the fronts of the buildings they were passing. “Here first.”

She pointed at a door and headed for it, but he took several steps to reach it first. He grabbed the handle and pulled, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thanks,” she said, but she was frowning curiously as she swept past him.

He wasn't quite certain what to make of her frown, but as he followed her into the store the question on the tip of his tongue faded when he saw the inside. It seemed to be a clothing merchant, but it was full of racks of haphazardly hung and scattered piles of clothes, all vastly different from ones he'd seen in Thedas but similar to the ones Abby had bought for him. He wondered how so many clothes had been made so quickly, and why they weren’t displayed better.

“Over there are shoes, you may have to try a few pairs before you find the right size,” she told him, pointing. “I'm going to be over there selling some things, okay?”

“Aye, lass,” he nodded, and she gave him a small grin before she headed off to a counter along the wall.

Rylen walked along another wall, his brows furrowed as he took in all the wares of the shop. They looked worn, and when he reached the shoes she had pointed at one eyebrow rose sharply out of his frown. He needed sturdy shoes if he intended to find work, which he did, and he found himself doubting the sturdiness of the shoes in the messy heap he was faced with.

Some of the shoes were brightly colored, others looked like leather slippers. He picked up a pair that was made of an  odd, slick, bendy material, simply thin straps fixed to the sole, made of the same material. He turned them in his hands, one eyebrow still raised as he tried to figure out how in the name of the Maker they were adequate protection for one’s feet.

There were a few pairs of what seemed to be sturdier boots that could be worn while performing work and duties, and he began to sort through them until he found what seemed to be a suitable pair. With a frown and a glance around the store he slid off his boots and tried on the light brown shoes. They fit oddly, different from his armored boots, but he remembered that his armor had been made to fit him specifically. As far as he could tell, somehow the shoes and clothes on Earth were manufactured in bulk, with no tailoring to individuals. It was strange to him, and he was curious how it was achieved on such a grand scale as it seemed to be.

He sighed as he flexed his feet in the boots, noticing that they were worn and likely going to rub in a few spots. But the bottoms were sturdy, and he thought that he should be able to wear them if he found any sort of work. Plus they had to help him blend, which Abby seemed to be worried about.

Sliding the boots back off he put his own back on, assuming he needed to pay before he was able to wear them. He didn’t have any way to do so though, and he chafed as he realized that she was going to be spending coin on him again. Turning the boots over in his hands as he contemplated his situation, he frowned, something catching his eye and distracting his line of thought.

“Men’s, Size 13, $12,” a small note on the bottom of one shoe said. He could read it, and he stared, wondering why Abby hadn’t told him that they spoke Common on Earth too. He glanced up, trying to find the counter she had said she’d be at, and when he saw her talking to the shopkeeper he began to make his way over.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine,” she was saying, letting out a small sigh as she pushed over the large pile of clothes and shoes she had brought. “Oh, and hang on, I need to buy -” she broke off as she saw him approaching, boots in hand.

“Here, lass, are these all right?” he asked, feeling almost sheepish. He wanted to ask her about the note he had read, but remembered what she had said and decided not to say anything around anyone else.

She nodded and reached out for the boots, taking them from him to set on the counter in front of the shopkeeper. “And I’m getting these,” she told them. When she finished the transaction, she put the boots into the bag she’d brought with them and gestured for Rylen to follow her as she walked out of the store.

They walked along the sidewalk as she put the greenish paper - money, he assumed from when he'd seen it before - that she had received into  her purse. “One more stop,” she told him. “Well two, depending on how this goes. We need a bit more food, if we have time to go to the bodega around the corner.”

“Aye, of course lass,” he agreed distractedly. He was looking around, taking in the signs they were passing, realizing he could read them all, even if some of the words were strange to him. “Why didn’t you tell me there was Common here? You called it English, but the signs, they’re all in Common.”

“What?” she stopped walking and looked up at him, then glanced around. “No, they’re all in English. Wait can you - can you read them?”

“Aye, clear as day - well, except for the words for things we didn’t have in Thedas,” he shrugged.

“The - you see it in Common? I thought Common was runes, are you seeing runes or -” she was looking between him and one of the nearest signs on the building beside them.

“No, lass, it’s - look, that there says ‘Corner Market,’” he pointed at the sign next to the one she was looking at. “It’s in Common, that’s what it looks like.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she shook her head and then began to laugh. “So there isn’t a Common, that’s just what you guys called English?”

“I - I still hadn’t heard of English until here,” he shrugged. “But I know that I can read that, and I can speak to you. Perhaps they’re one and the same.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, and then laughed some more. “Well I guess that makes things easier. I really should get you some books, then, so you can catch up on things while I’m at work.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, not wanting to explain that he had other plans than sitting around while she worked to support them both. He had a strong feeling she’d try to talk him out of it, or insist that it wasn’t necessary. She was headstrong, unwilling to accept help or someone looking out for her, but he wasn’t going to let her stubbornness get in the way of him trying to pay her back.

“Just a block or two,” she sighed, and continued on her way.

He fell into step beside her, looking around now that he realized he could read everything around him. Before he had been distracted, but now he wanted to take in his surroundings, learn everything he could. Knowing he could read the language changed everything for him.

When Abby headed for a shop, he hurried forward to open the door for her again, simply trying to be polite. Again she frowned slightly at him as she said thank you, but then she walked into the shop away from him, not bothering to tell him what she was doing. He followed, but stopped one step into the shop, looking around with eyes wide.

All manner of object was on shelves, glass cases displaying what must have been more expensive items for sale. Abby made her way to one of the counters and rang a bell, and Rylen found himself lost in the shelves, looking through the wares for sale. Some of them were recognizable, if not seemingly strange variations of objects from Thedas, and he realized a store like this was unusual to him without also selling magical wares. When he heard the shopkeeper greet Abby, he was amazed to hear that he wasn’t a Tranquil, hawking their enchanted items.

“I’ve got this knife I was hoping to sell,” Abby was saying. “It’s genuine Damascus steel, still in nearly perfect condition, I mean it’s hardly been used -”

“Damascus? Hm,” he heard the shopkeeper reply. A few moments of silence, only broken by the sound of the man’s thoughtful hums and grunts. Rylen peered around the shelf he was behind and saw the man inspecting the knife. He was large, wearing a shirt similar to the one Abby’s husband had worn, though his was black and had a symbol on his chest. The man’s face sank into a deep frown suddenly and he shook his head.

“Is something wrong?” Abby asked.

“Engraved,” the man grunted. “With the date and your initials - that’ll take the price down. People don’t want to buy a knife with someone else’s memories on it.”

“It’s still Damascus steel, surely people would overlook that tiny detail,” she sighed, gesturing at the knife.

“You’d be surprised, people are weird about buying other people’s wedding gifts,” the man shrugged. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? So what, getting a divorce?”

Abby grumbled and shifted, folding her arms. Her back was to Rylen, but he could tell from her posture she was getting ready to argue.

“Listen, I can do five hundred -” the man told her, but she interrupted quickly.

“Five hundred? Do you know how much that thing is worth? It easily cost two grand!” she protested.

“With the engraving, the chance it might not sell, I can’t go above five hundred,” the man shrugged and set the knife down between them. “Sorry.”

Abby seemed at a loss, staring down at the knife, one hand tapping its fingers on the glass cabinet. Rylen hesitated for only a moment more - what had she called the steel? Damascus? - and then he stepped out from the shelves.

“Sorry to interrupt, did I hear the lass correctly? Damascus steel?” he asked as he approached the counter. Abby startled when she heard his voice, but she glanced up at him, and when their gazes locked a cunning look came into her eyes.

“That’s right,” she answered. “Top of the line, and it’s hardly been used - still sharp as can be. Have you heard of them?”

“Not just heard about them, I’ve been looking for a good one,” he mused, folding one arm across his chest and tapping his chin with the fingers of his other. “If you want to cut out the middleman, here, I would gladly take it off your hands. Something like that - I’d be willing to go up to eight hundred if you sold it to me.”

“So you don’t care that it’s engraved?” she asked pointedly.

“Eh, what’s a bit of etching in the blade? Won’t affect how well it cuts things,” he shrugged.

“Well, even still, eight hundred isn’t much compared to what it’s worth,” she sighed, pursing her lips as she contemplated the blade thoughtfully. “But still, if you’d be willing to take it off my hands -”

“Nine hundred,” the other man interjected. “Maybe I was a bit hasty in writing it off because of the engraving. He’s got a point, it doesn’t affect how sharp it is.”

Abby glanced sideways at Rylen, and he made sure he looked like he was considering for a moment. “Nine-fifty, lass, if you’d still be willing to cut him out. I know he’ll just charge me more if I try to buy it off him, so let’s just handle this you and I -”

“One grand,” the man grumbled. “Half its worth isn’t bad, all things considered.”

“Can you top that?” Abby turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. But she winked with the eye furthest from the other man, and Rylen picked up on the hint immediately.

“Sorry, I think that’s more than I can part with,” Rylen sighed and shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to keep looking.”

He nodded at them both and then turned back to the shelves, meandering down them as if checking one last time for what he was pretending to search for, and then he turned and left the shop. He waited a bit down the street for Abby to join him after she handled her business. The entire time he looked around the streets, reading the signs and thinking.

That was one way he had helped her, but it didn’t feel like enough. He needed to do more, he needed to find a steady way to make the coin - money - that he owed her and that could help.

After a while she came out of the shop, smiling from ear to ear as she approached him. “Jesus, Rylen, that was amazing,” she said as she joined him.

“It was just bartering, lass,” he shrugged. “That was standard in Thedas.”

She shook her head as if she was at a loss for words, still just smiling up at him. “I - I just - I can’t believe it, that’s far more than I hoped to get today,” she finally told him. She laughed suddenly, and he frowned at her. “Oh man, I bet John didn’t think I would actually sell that. He gave it to me like it would make me nostalgic, like I’d hold on to it - instead I just made up way more than what I was missing for rent and bills in one go.”

“Nostalgic? I - the shopkeeper said it was engraved, was it a gift?” he asked.

She nodded as she began to walk down the path and he followed. “Yeah, it was a wedding present,” she explained. “It was stupid really, some gimmicky thing just meant to impress people, one of his partners gave it to us. It’s nothing more than a fancy engraved knife, it’s not any better than a normal chef’s knife, really. And I didn’t cook so I never used it - even if I did though, why would I use a knife worth two grand on vegetables?”

She laughed again, her smile easy and carefree, as if she was genuinely happy. The sight stirred something in him, and made him even more determined to keep doing what he could to help her. If it meant seeing her like this, giggling and with a sparkle in her chocolate eyes, he was willing to do anything.

He frowned a bit as he pondered that, but his line of thought was interrupted when he felt her hand against his stomach and glanced down.

“Man, I wish you'd been at the counter when I was selling my favorite black stilettos, maybe I could have gotten a better price for them,” she sighed wistfully, but he could tell she was still joking. Instead of replying he took the key on a small ring that she was holding out to him. “Here, I got a key made for you for the apartment. I can’t really keep you locked up there all day, so take it. That way you can explore and get out, I know you said you hate being cooped up.”

“I - thank you, lass,” he said, the wheels of his mind immediately turning. This did a great deal to open up his options for helping her.

“I - shit, I didn’t see the time,” she sighed, looking at her phone. “Do you know your way back? It’s just right up the street, and then -”

“Aye lass, I remember,” he told her, slipping the key she’d handed him into the pocket of his pants. “Are you headed to work?”

“Yeah, I need to go,” she nodded. “Hey, thanks again, that was - I’m not sure you realize how much that helped. I’ll see you later tonight. Call - oh fuck you can’t. We should do something about that. Um, if you need me, I -”

“I’ll be fine, lass, I’m not a wee babe, remember?” he chuckled. “See you tonight, Abby.”

“Yeah, see you later,” she smiled brightly at him before she turned down a side street and hurried off.

For a moment he stared after her, feeling almost dazzled by her smile. It had been so rare, he had hardly seen it, but already he knew - it was the loveliest sight he had ever seen, and he wanted to see more of it.

In order for that to happen, though, he needed to continue to help her.

He took in his surroundings, doing his best to ground himself. He knew where her building was, he knew how to get back to it, but just in case he took a few moments to memorize where he was now.

Work. He needed to find work.

And so he set off, walking the streets slowly as he looked around. Surely there were signs, ways to tell where to find work. He thought hard about what he could do, considering. For most of his life he had trained as a soldier, had specialized in tracking down apostates, protecting mages and non-mages alike from the dangers of magic. In a world without magic, what was he good at?

As he walked and thought, he became aware of loud clangs, and an unholy sound like something in a blacksmith’s shop, only the speed it was going was confusing to him, far too rapid for it to be from anything recognizable. He continued, following the source of the sound, and stopped when he found the answer to his problems.

There was a large metal fence around an open plot of land, dirt and sand spread in piles around the site. Giant yellow carriages with what looked like large shovels attached were rolling along, scooping the dirt to move to other locations.

Building - they were going to build something here, and Rylen smiled when he remembered something else he had spent a portion of his life doing. After all, he was the son of one of the most prominent stonemasons in Starkhaven.

Looking around he tried to determine who was in charge and how to get through the fence, but before he headed that way he remembered something Abby had said. He buttoned the top few buttons she had undone on his shirt, and straightened his pants so that they covered the tops of his boots. That way, he blended a bit more, since he hadn’t changed into the new shoes they had gotten.

Rylen approached what looked like a gate in the fence and called out to a man standing nearby observing the work. When the man walked over, he was frowning, but Rylen gave him a bright smile. “Quite the project you have going here,” Rylen commented, gesturing at what seemed to be a colored map for the building they were trying to erect, which was hanging on the fence.

“Yeah, should be done in a few years, so if you’re here to complain about the noise -” the man began, sounding disgruntled, but Rylen shook his head and held up a hand.

“No, I’m not here to complain about the noise,” he explained quickly. “I was wondering - do you have all the men you need? I’m looking for work, I thought maybe if you were adding to your crew…”

He trailed off and let the unspoken question hang in the air. The other man wiggled the hard yellow helmet on his head as he considered Rylen, looking him up and down with a frown.

“Do you have experience in construction?” he asked, sounding as if he was doubtful.

“Aye, my da was a stonemason in - back home, and I helped him with his work,” he answered, hoping the man didn’t pry too much.

“Where’s home? You sound like Sean Connery or something,” the man asked, looking confused. “Are you Scottish?”

Rylen recognized the word from his first conversation with Abby, remembering that she said he sounded like he was from somewhere called Scotland and sounded Scottish. He nodded quickly at the man. “Aye, I am.”

“You here on work visa? Or,” the man glanced around as if checking to make sure no one else was around. “I mean, it doesn’t matter, just changes the paperwork, how we, uh, handle the pay.”

“I - no, I’m not,” he answered, assuming that was the correct response, since he didn’t know what a work visa was.

“I see,” the man nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “Well we are short-handed, and you have experience - since you’re uh, ‘on loan’ from Scotland, we’ll have to work out an arrangement.”

The man put an emphasis on the last word, and Rylen folded his arms as he considered. “What sort of arrangement?”

“I can get away with ten an hour, cash, every week,” the man muttered. “And if anyone asks, you’ve got your visa, just some things got lost in translation and they should speak to me, got it?”

Rylen quirked a brow, his mind working fast to absorb all of the new words. Cash - Abby had said that word before when referring to the green paper she also called money, which he knew meant coin. Ten an hour - but how many hours? “And how many hours a week?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“At least forty, you’ll be full-time,” the man explained. “Like I said, we’re short-handed, and considering your situation, you’re perfect since we’re struggling with the budget too.” The man winked, and Rylen nodded as if he understood the implications of the man’s words.

“Aye, I think you’ve got a deal,” he said, one second’s math making him realize that would be at least four hundred in cash every week that he could give to Abby. Surely that would help?

“When can you start?” the man asked, sounding slightly eager.

“I can start now, if you need me,” Rylen shrugged. How many hours could he get in today? The sooner he could get money to her, the better he’d feel about everything. And forty hours a week sounded like hardly any time at all - when he was a Templar, he had never been off duty, he had always been working. Working more than forty hours now wouldn’t be an issue at all.

“Damn, it’s my lucky day,” the other man muttered. “I’m Hank, by the way, I’m the site supervisor. Any problems, bring them to me. Let’s get you set up, I have an extra helmet and safety vest, and we can work on getting you everything else you need tomorrow.”

Hank undid the gate and stepped aside to let Rylen by, gesturing him over to a small white structure. Rylen followed and took in his surroundings, watching the workers to see what he could observe about the work they were doing. It would be easy, he could pick it up, he was certain.

“So, what brought you to New York?” Hank asked as he led Rylen up a small set of stairs into the white structure.

“Chance,” Rylen answered, hoping he didn’t have to expand further than that. He knew little about this ‘Scotland’ and didn’t want to make the man suspicious with his lack of knowledge of his supposed homeland.

“Hopefully for the best, and not bad luck,” Hank mused with a chuckle.

Rylen thought about Abby’s happy smile, the twinkle in her chocolate eyes and he smiled. “Aye, I think it is.”

“Well good, then,” Hank nodded. “If anything it was my luck that you came by, they’ve been on my case about needing more workers, but no one’s looking for work right now. Or at least, not anyone worth hiring. But jeez, the size of you, and you have experience - I’m glad chance brought you by. Here’s your helmet and vest.”

Rylen took the proffered items and looked them over, biting his tongue to hold back the critique he wanted to give. The helmet seemed like hardly enough to protect against anything, but it seemed they all wore them as if it was required and so he decided to simply accept it.

“Right, so you’ll need someone to show you around, let you know what we’ve been up to,” Hank said. “I’d do it myself but the boss is about to call and I need to meet with him about the budget. So I’ll find someone who can show you the ropes and get you up to speed.”

“Aye, sounds good,” Rylen agreed as he shrugged into the bright orange and yellow vest and pulled on the yellow helmet. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt again, realizing that he was no longer in the ‘interview’ Abby had mentioned, and knew he wouldn’t be able to get work done if he was feeling strangled by the collar of the shirt.

Hank led him back out of the small white structure, which had seemed like a mobile office, and then stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around. “Hey, Russ! Come here!” he shouted, gesturing to one of the workers when he looked up.

The worker looked up from where he was working with a large hammer, shielding his eyes from the sun and squinting up at where Rylen and Hank were standing. He had a round, young face, and even from this distance it was obvious that it was covered in freckles. His hair was red and curly when he removed his helmet to wipe his brow, slowly making his way to where they stood. He was portly, his bright vest slightly snug on him, and there was an easy cheerfulness in his eyes as his gaze roamed over Rylen.

Something almost akin to recognition showed on his face, and Rylen frowned, curious. Abby’s explanation that he was a story, that Thedas was a tale on Earth suddenly came back to him. It wasn’t as if she was the only one who knew it, was she?

“Russ, this is - wait, I haven’t even asked your name,” Hank chuckled.

“Rylen MacCullum,” he answered, nodding at both men.

“Ha! Yeah, you’re Scottish all right,” Hank commented, but Russ’ brows sank into a thoughtful frown, his eyes flicking over Rylen’s face, taking in the tattoos and scars there. “All right, this is Russell, the guys all call him Russ - he’ll show you around, get you acquainted with the place.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Russ agreed, but he was still considering Rylen. “Follow me, I’ll get you set up.”

Rylen nodded at Hank before he fixed the helmet on his head, straightening it as he followed the younger man through the building site.

“So, Rylen, huh?” Russ asked, raising his voice over the noise of the construction.

“Aye, that’s right,” Rylen answered, looking around with interest at everything going on around him. Some of the tools were different, but for the most part, he didn't feel as lost as he initially thought he might be.

“Have you been in New York long?” Russ glanced over his shoulder at him.

“A few weeks, I think,” Rylen shrugged.

“Cool, cool,” Russ agreed absently. “Do you like it so far?”

“It’s - different,” Rylen replied haltingly.

“Yeah, I bet,” Russ muttered, but he didn’t elaborate. “So what do you do for fun? Do you like, game? Or watch movies?”

“I - read, mostly, or maybe train,” Rylen answered, and he frowned down at the young man. Was this part of showing him around?

“Do you ever game? There’s this one - oh man, I love it, I bet you would, too,” Russ began, and he got an eager gleam in his eyes. “It’s called Dragon Age, and in it, the main character is this -”

“Listen, mate, can you - show me around? I’d like to get to work, I have a lass - that is, I need the money, I don’t want to seem like a layabout my first day,” he suggested, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

“Oh right, sorry,” Russ said, and he began to lead him through the site again. “Did you say you had a - a lass?”

“A friend, I meant,” Rylen corrected, feeling his cheeks heat slightly. It had been a slip, but he pictured Abby’s smile again and realized he may have been closer to the truth the first time.

“Well, it’s pretty easy around here, I mean - we’ve gotten most of the basics down already, we’re about to start laying the foundation. We’re just prepping it after putting down all the cables and pipes and stuff,” Russ pointed at different locations as he spoke. “Have you worked on a site before?”

“Eh - not of this scale, but my da was a stonemason and I used to help him,” Rylen muttered as he put his hands on his hips, taking it all in.

“A - huh,” Russ grunted. “So, uh - do you have steel-toed boots? You just sort of walked onto the job, I don’t want to have you help me do anything without those today, I mean - if you have them you can start tomorrow -”

Rylen glanced down at his boots and frowned, wondering what Russ meant. He was still in his armored boots - they were more than adequate, considering. “I’ve got some on, it’s fine.”

Russ looked down as well, and his eyes widened. “Those are - shit, are those armor? Wait a minute,” his gaze snapped back up to Rylen’s. “Are you wearing - are you - you’re - holy shit -”

His mouth dropped open and he almost turned slightly red, looking thoroughly excited. Rylen raised an eyebrow as he waited for Russell to finish, but when he seemed at a loss for words Rylen gestured with a hand. “I’m what? Are these not what you meant?”

“You’re - you’re - you’re - holy shit, no way!” Russ continued finally in a loud whisper. “Are you - your name is Rylen - you’re - you’re from _Thedas_!”

Rylen’s other eyebrow rose as he considered the younger man. It seemed Abby wasn’t the only one after all.

“Ho-ly shit!” Russ said again, dragging the first word into two long syllables. “Oh man! I thought so - I mean, besides the name, just - the tattoos, the scars - how did you get here? You’re - you’re _real_ , I just -”

“Keep your voice down, lad,” Rylen told him, gesturing for him to lessen his excitement with a hand. “I take it you know the story too, then? My la - that is, my friend, Abby, she - she said Thedas is a story, here?”

“A - a story? Oh man, that’s putting it lightly! It’s so much more, it’s - it’s an adventure, it’s a game, and I thought playing it was great but you - you _lived_ it! I mean, you were a part of the _Inquisition_!” Russ said, his eyes still wide. “You’ve fought dragons, demons - how was the Western Approach, how was Griffon Wing Keep? Did you fight the Abyssal High Dragon with the Inquisitor -”

“Slow down, lad - where? The what? I - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rylen frowned.

“What do you mean? Did you -” he gasped and simply stared at Rylen for a moment. “Wait, when did you leave Thedas? When did you get here?”

“I was fighting outside Haven, and then I was here,” Rylen told him, shrugging slightly.

“So you - you don’t even know, you don’t know anything that happened? Oh man, the Breach just happened for you, didn’t it?” Russ shook his head, looking amazed. “Was it a rift? I always thought those things could work as portals, could transport people through the Fade -”

“You knew about that?” Rylen raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “Is there a way to get back, then?”

“What? No, I just meant - I said so in the forums, people said the rifts just led to the Fade, but I told them I would bet they could connect to other worlds,” Russ rushed to explain. “I read a few fics where people got to Thedas that way, and I wrote one that crossed over the Marvel Universe with Thedas, and I sent Captain America there to become the Inquisitor -”

Russell trailed off when he saw the confused look on Rylen’s face.

“Sorry, that’s probably - just - wow, you’re actually _here_ , and I met you!” he mused, still looking like he couldn’t believe any of it.

“Listen mate, if there isn’t a way back that you know of - then I need to work,” he said, feeling a headache coming on. He had been feeling so well all day, too, but now he was beginning to feel stiff, his withdrawals suddenly rearing their ugly head.

“Yeah, who’s this lass you mentioned? Did she - did someone come with you?” Russ asked eagerly. “Is it Scout Harding? I always wished she was really romanceable -”

“What? No,” Rylen shook his head. “It’s - the lass who found me, Abby. She - she’s struggling, and she saved my life, more than once. If you know Thedas, you know the Templars, and lyrium, I - I nearly died without it, but she saved me. I need to pay her back, it’s only right. She’s a good lass, I - I can’t rely on her forever.”

“Wow,” Russell breathed, simply staring at Rylen with wide eyes. He shook himself after a moment and then began nodding rapidly. “Yeah, let’s - let’s get to work. Stick with me, I’ll show you everything, just ask me if you have questions. Oh man this is _so cool_.”

And with a slight squeal and a laugh Russell gestured Rylen to follow him. Heaving a sigh, Rylen did so, finding himself torn between relief that he had someone to help explain things and annoyance at Russell's overeager questioning. But he thought about the money he would make, the smile he was sure to see on Abby’s face when he gave it to her, and he decided it was worth handling an exuberant lad tripping over himself with something akin to hero worship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russell is based on Jonah Hill in...well...just about anything.


	7. First Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a _monster_ of a chapter. I feel a little bad, the updated tags are a bit misleading but I needed to update them because of content in the chapter - this is still a slow burn, sorry to get your hopes up. Don't worry though, all in good time ;-)
> 
> Abby mood music: ["Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_PQ4fRQ5Kc).
> 
> Content warning: Brief mention of death/gun violence.

**April 18, 2010**

 

“No, please - she needs to stay another night. I'm telling you, every time she's home she's getting dehydrated - you need to keep her under observation so you can see for yourself what I mean -”

Abby could almost hear the woman on the other end rolling her eyes. “We're not a daycare -”

“For adults struggling through chemo and needing IVs to stay alive? Then what do you do, exactly?” Her voice was rising, but luckily it was a slow lunch and she didn't have any customers at the moment.

“We can't keep her all the time just because you're busy. I know the bills must be -”

“What do you think I'm busy doing? I'm working my ass off so I can pay those astronomically ridiculous fucking bills you keep sending her -”

“Miss, please calm down -”

“I'll calm down when you please, _please_ figure out why she can't hold in any liquids,” Abby's voice cracked and she swallowed past the emotion in her throat. “Please, one more night.”

A moment of silence greeted her, followed by a deep sigh. “One more night, and I'll speak to them about what we can do to keep her from getting so dehydrated at home.”

Abby closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, I - it means a lot. Thank you so much.”

A quick, stilted goodbye and she hung up the phone, returning it to its charging station. Using the bar’s line at least made it seem like she was doing work when she made these calls, and her manager didn't give her too hard a time even when he caught her. They all knew Abby's mother was ill, and tried to be understanding.

“Rough day?”

The smooth, deep voice was surprising but welcome, even though it made her heart begin to race immediately. She hadn't noticed him come in, but she had been hoping that he would. He always made the hours pass more quickly, more enjoyably, and he slipped her tips enough to help buy her mother's meds.

Turning, she tried to put a smile on, nervously tucking her long hair behind her ear. The sight of him sitting at the bar, frowning slightly with concern while still managing a pearly grin made her heart race even faster. Gone were the days that she snarked and teased him - in the months he'd been coming for lunch their banter had turned serious, almost caring. She wasn't sure what to make of it, though she found a great deal of solace in their near-daily chats.

“Rough isn't a strong enough word,” she sighed as she moved to lean against the bar between them.

“More trouble with your mother's treatments?” he asked, quirking one of his dark eyebrows.

“She hasn't been holding in any liquids, but of course the hospital gives her one IV bag when I bring her in and just want to send her home. They think she just isn't drinking enough, but I've been watching her, and she _is_. And I couldn't stay, I had to come to work, I -”

Her voice cracked and she looked down at where her hands were clasped on the bartop. She hadn't realized how close her hands had ended up to his until he easily reached one over to cover hers. His fingers were long, tan, and thin, his nails neatly trimmed and maintained. She'd often admired his hands while he ate and drank, stealing secret glances of admiration when she didn’t think he was looking.

Her gaze fell on the thin, yellow gold band on his ring finger, though, and she fought a sigh. That simple accessory kept her glances furtive and secretive, not allowing herself to think anything more could come of it. Just a fun customer, charming and witty. That was all.

“Is there anything I can do?” he offered, and she looked up to his piercing grey eyes. Was she imagining it, or was there sincerity and - longing? - in his gaze?

“Cure cancer?” she suggested wryly, forcing a few laughs as she shook her head. “Thanks for the offer. It just - it is the way it is. Anyway, sorry I didn't see you come in. How are you today, John? Doing lunch again?”

He frowned at her as she pulled her hands out from his and turned to reach for a menu. “Of course,” he finally answered with a broad smile. “Plus I had to see my favorite sassy bartender, make sure I get my daily dose of humbling. I'd hate to get too full of myself.”

She giggled as she slid a menu to him, followed by a glass of water with a slice of lemon, like always. “I'll do my best, I'm afraid I'm off my game today,” she told him with a wink. When he smirked and wiggled an eyebrow in response, her stomach tied into knots. Instinctively she bit her lower lip and looked away, hoping he didn't notice the way she was sure she flushed. It was wrong to encourage it, but it was a distraction, it took her mind off her mother alone in a hospital room. She couldn't resist - she never could resist.

He teased and prodded her as he ate, he continued to give her his wide, perfect smile. He was older than her, double her age of twenty, but she admired his wit, his easy confidence that didn't come off cocky like it did with so many boys her age. He was fascinating, able to hold conversation, dazzling her with jokes and anecdotes.

By the time she was taking away his finished salad and handing him the bill, her mood was infinitely improved, her smile easy and free, her usual snarky humor returned.

“I added three scotches to your bill, wanted to make sure your partners at the firm didn't think you actually just had a _salad_ for lunch,” she told him.

“Ah yes, thanks for looking out for my reputation, Abby,” he winked. “I'd hate for the stereotype about lawyers and scotch to be forgotten.”

She giggled and gave him a playful shrug. “Here for you, John.”

He contemplated her for a moment with a few chuckles and then cleared his throat and focused on putting his card back in his wallet. “Listen, I, uh - I know the head of Oncology, I shot him a text to stop by your mother's room and check on her -”

“John, I - you didn't have to do that, seriously -” her eyes widened and her mouth hung open as she struggled to find the words.

“It's not a problem, we play golf together,” he shrugged. “The least he can do is check on a woman in need after the way he always beats me every Saturday morning out on the green.”

“I - I don't know how to say thank you -” Abby stuttered out, but he reached for one of her hands resting on the bar and squeezed her fingers.

“Have dinner with me,” he asked quietly, the words coming out rushed as if it was an impulsive question. “You could use a break, and I could use more of your humbling conversation -”

“You're - John, you're married,” she whispered, looking around even though no one was nearby.

He sighed and thought for a moment, staring at where he was holding her hand. “I can't stop thinking about you, Abby,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn't say that, I know I shouldn't be asking but - I can't get you out of my head. Please, let me take you out, let me treat you right. You deserve it.”

A voice that sounded similar to her mother's echoed in her head, telling her to say no. But that line of thought made her think of the sleepless nights, the hospital bills piling up, the way that her grades were slipping because of how her life seemed to be falling apart. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been stressed - although every time John stopped by for lunch, she actually felt something resembling happiness again, at least for a while, at least while he was there with her. And how many nights alone had she let herself fantasize, imagining that he wasn't married and wanted her?

Besides, if he was here, asking her to dinner, what were the odds he was happy in his current situation?

“I - I'm off tomorrow night,” she answered, the words slipping from her mouth automatically, and they were met by another perfect smile.

The next evening when she had finished her shift, she hurried to the bathroom and into one of the stalls, undressing and pulling a dress from her purse, shimmying into it as quickly as she could. He'd said five-thirty, and she was running late.

Once she'd changed she stopped in front of the mirror, running her hands through her hair, trying to fluff it so that it did more than just hang down to the middle of her back. Maybe she'd cut it soon, it had been annoying her and in the way recently, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. She touched up her makeup, but hesitated before she put on lipstick. If they kissed…

After some consideration she threw her lipstick back in her purse without putting any on, her heart racing with excitement as she slung the bag over her shoulder and tore out of the bathroom. John was waiting, standing so casually, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. Abby tugged self-consciously at her black dress, trying not to think about how cheap it was, and she suddenly wondered if she should have worn something other than her fake leather jacket over it. But he smiled brightly when he saw her, his eyes roaming over her with hungry appreciation before he held out his arm.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She giggled and nodded, feeling giddy. How many times had she pictured this very scenario, had longed for this to happen? And now it was, now he was smiling at her like this, her hand tucked into his elbow as they snuck out the door together.

John pointed to their left and led her down the sidewalk, glancing down and smiling at her occasionally, but neither of them spoke. Even in her scuffed up heels she barely came up to his shoulder, and she craned her neck to peer up at him as they walked.

When they stopped at a crosswalk, their eyes locked, and for Abby it felt as if time stopped as she drank in sparkling grey depths. They left her feeling devoured, and she couldn't muster any last doubt or resolve that any of this was wrong. How could it be wrong when he was looking at her like this?

At the same moment she strained on her toes and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest on the side of her throat, his thumb encouraging her jaw to tilt upwards. When their lips met it was like fire, electricity coursing through her veins as her lips instinctively parted for his. The signal for the crosswalk began beeping permission to cross, but neither of them pulled away. Abby swayed and leaned into him, her hand grasping his tie to pull him closer.

He smelled like citrus and cloves, almost like Old Spice, and she inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent. She couldn't get enough, and from the way he was holding her so tightly, she wondered if he felt the same. A crowd was jostling them, the pedestrians on the sidewalk parting reluctantly to go around them. Still his mouth slanted, his tongue desperately tangling with hers as if the taste of her could get him drunk.

With a gasp they pulled away, and Abby blinked rapidly as she tried to regain her senses. But he grabbed her hand and walked her quickly across the street, looking around as they hurried to a parking garage nearby. She realized as they ran through the deserted rows of cars that she didn't care where he was leading her, so long as he kissed her like that again.

It didn't surprise her when the car he led her to was new and expensive, an SUV with black tinted windows. He pulled her by the hand and pressed her back against it, kissing her hungrily as he pinned her to the side of the car.

Her knees were weakening, and she realized it had been far too long since she'd been kissed. But she also knew she had never been kissed like this before.

“John,” she breathed against his mouth. “I - god I'm going to fall over, I can't stand straight -”

For an answer he dug in his pocket for the key fob to unlock the doors. He pulled the handle for the door, and Abby heaved herself onto the cold leather of the back seat as she shrugged out of her jacket.

John followed and closed the door, tugging at his tie to loosen it before he threw it and his suit jacket aside as he leaned toward her. “You're gorgeous,” he murmured, sliding his hands along her thighs, pushing her dress up as he went. He recaptured her lips with his as he hooked his fingers in her lacy underwear and began to slide them down.

They were the nicest pair she owned, and she'd worn them specifically, hoping more than she should that the effort wasn't for nothing. He used his powerful hands to pull her legs toward him so that she fell back on the seat, and he parted her knees. Her mind was blank, unable to focus on or comprehend anything but the way his mouth felt as it moved along her skin, his stubble rough against her thighs.

“J-John -” she gasped before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her back arched as he slid his tongue against her clit a second time, a soft, muffled cry escaping her fingers pressed tightly to her lips.

“I want to hear you, gorgeous,” he moaned. “God you taste so fucking good -”

He trailed off as he buried his face between her legs again, and at his gentle encouragement she removed her hand from her mouth so that he could hear her escalating response. Colors were exploding behind her closed eyes, and she dragged her fingers through his salt and pepper hair, rolling her hips against the way he was swirling his tongue along her.

“Fuck - I’m - I’m going to -” she whimpered, and she glanced down to see his smiling grey eyes avidly watching her face. The sight pushed her closer to the edge, the sight of him working so intently and smiling while he did so better than any fantasy she’d had of him. When she fell apart it was like her world splintered into tiny fragments, his name the only word she knew how to say as she writhed and sobbed on the leather seat.

She stilled after what felt like blissful eternity, trying to catch her breath as she listened to the sound of his belt buckle jingling. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw him tearing open a small foil packet, and when his gaze met hers he paused. It was only a breath of a moment, but she knew he was waiting, that he’d stop if she said no.

Instead, she smiled and reached into his loose slacks to pull him free.

His eyes closed and he stilled as she ran her hand along him, but then he groaned and began to roll the condom down his length. “I need to be inside you,” he said urgently. “Abby, you’re - god, you’re perfection.”

As he said it he slid himself into her with a moan and she gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his hips. He propped himself over her on the seat, nuzzling her neck with his face as he took a moment to savor the feeling.

“You’re so tight, kitten,” he murmured in her ear. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He continued to purr praise into her ear as he began moving, and soon his thrusts picked up in speed and intensity until the entire SUV was rocking from the way he was fucking her. Every time he snapped his hips into hers her cries mingled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Pleasure built in the pit of her stomach, each thrust pushing her to the edge. When he slipped a hand between them and began to stroke her she tightened her legs around his hips, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes from how wonderful she felt. The world slipped away, nothing mattered but him moving within her, whispering and moaning in her ear as he pushed her closer to her climax.

With a keening cry she fell apart for a second time, her back arching, her nails digging into his back through his white dress shirt. He jerked his hips forcefully into hers a few more times to carry her through and with a moan of her name he went deep, shuddering as he found his own release. When he finished he collapsed on top of her, and for several long moments they simply breathed heavily, trying to calm down.

“I promise next time we’ll make it to dinner first, gorgeous,” he murmured languidly.

“Next time?” she repeated, her tone hopeful, her stomach tying into knots. Could he mean it? Could this be more than him banging the young bartender because he was bored, because Manhattan was stuffy and predictable for him?

“Yes,” he answered, raising his head from where it was resting beside hers so that he could peer down into her face. “Abby, I - stay with me. I want you to be mine, I want - we can do this. Let me take care of you like I want to. I care about you - so much, gorgeous.”

She shook her head, trying to force herself to look at it rationally, to forget the way he was still inside her, the way she was weak from what had just happened. “John you’re married -”

“Not happily,” he admitted. “But when I’m with you, I’m happy. I’m crazy about you, Abby. I can’t stop thinking about you, I - say you’ll be mine. Say you’ll stay with me. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

 

* * *

 

It was like she thought if she stared at the whiskey bottle long enough, all her problems would go away. The bottle remained sealed and closed, but her foot bounced impatiently as she chewed her thumb, mentally warring with herself. Tuesday night, her night off, with nowhere to be - what was the harm? Rylen had been gone all day, and she didn’t know where he was, she hadn’t thought to ask. She didn’t have to work until four the next day, she could shake off a hangover by then.

Normally she wouldn’t have given it a second thought, she’d already be halfway through the bottle. But she was hesitant and couldn’t quite figure out why. It was just that the call from her lawyer had shaken her, and while she wanted to forget and drown herself in drink, she also wanted to simply think, and be. And she needed a clear head for that.

_They said you need evidence, and there’s no way to get any, now._

The words were harmless, it was a simple answer, but hearing it had torn her apart. She knew, she had seen proof, but her word wasn’t enough in a court of law.

Texts, requests for photos, emails with instructions on where to meet, what to wear - she had seen them all when she went searching because she was suspicious, it was how things fell apart. But John was smart, careful, and they had all disappeared as soon as she confronted him.

Instead of hiring a P.I. she’d asked him to go to counseling, had begged him to work through things with her, had blamed herself for him straying. She hadn’t been enough, she had been focusing on her writing too much, she hadn’t been a good wife, hadn't given him what he needed.

 _Once a cheater, always a cheater,_ her mother had warned her after she brought John to dinner to introduce them. He had been all charm, had asked how she was feeling, had promised to see what he could do to help with her care. Had proclaimed how much Abby meant to him, how much he knew her mother meant to her and therefore him as well.

_He’ll break your heart, Abigail. A man like that is used to having the world cater to his every whim, and you’ll never be enough. Be careful._

But Abby had been barely twenty, and the romance of it, the forbidden passion had swept her off her feet. He knew all the right words, all the right things to say, until she was so caught up in the whirlwind of attention and affection that she forgot that it was wrong.

It wasn’t that it was cheating, not in her mind. They couldn’t help it, they’d fallen in love, and they were meant to be together. It wasn’t their fault the universe had thrown them together while he was still married, fate was just funny that way. She didn’t pause to think about how he had so easily had a condom in his wallet, didn’t think about how it might have meant something more than that he was a responsible adult.

She never wondered if she was the only one. At least, not until she caught him carrying condoms in his wallet again, asking Jenna to send him pictures of her topless.

She had never been in love before, and she thought the heat, the fire, the intense way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other even though he was married was the pinnacle of romantic love. Nothing could keep them apart, they couldn’t resist one another.

In the end, she wished she’d listened to her mother.

_I promise I’ll take care of you._

Now older, wiser, more cynical - she wondered what would have gone differently in her life if she hadn’t said yes. If she hadn’t kissed him after that declaration, if she had told him no and said it had been a mistake. If she had pushed him away instead of holding him closer in the backseat of his SUV, if she had gone home to take care of her mother instead of with him to a hotel. If she had ended things then instead of falling into bed with him again and again, lost to a pleasure that let her forget her troubles as well as her morals.

If she hadn’t let him begin to snake his way into her life with favors and pretty words, and had continued to take care of things herself, just as she always had, just as she’d been raised to do.

The whiskey in the bottle in front of her wasn’t enough to make her forget all of that, wasn’t going to help her go back in time so that she could slap some sense into her twenty year-old self. But it could take the edge off, it could let her forget for a bit that she wasn’t sure she would get out of this mess the way that she wanted to.

_Evidence. More than just your word, your claims that it was adultery._

With a sigh she stretched a hand out for the bottle, deciding she had reached ‘fuck it.’ The feelings of hope and happiness she had felt the previous week after she made up the money she needed for bills, when she’d been able to buy more groceries for them after selling the knife, were gone. The phone call from her lawyer had ruined all the good vibes she’d been riding on since then.

The bottle was halfway to her lips when the door opened, Rylen’s tall frame striding in, and she lowered the whiskey as she frowned at him. His forehead was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his shirt stuck to him as well, and he almost looked like he had a bit of grime on his arms. It made her wonder what on Earth he’d been doing.

“Eh, lass, good you’re home,” he greeted her as he shut the door. He crossed over to her and dug in his pocket for a moment, looking somehow proud and yet sheepish as he pulled out a folded wad of cash.

“You - I - what is this?” she stared wide-eyed at the money he was trying to hand her.

“Five hundred coi - cash,” he told her, gesturing it at her again. “It's my due, lass.”

He was looking at her earnestly, holding the cash out with a small grin. But Abby frowned, completely at a loss for words.

“I - Rylen, where did you get five hundred dollars in cash?” she asked. “Are you LARP’ing for money or something?”

“What? No, Abby, I - I found work. Ten an hour, it’s all here,” he told her, and he set it in front of her when she didn't take it from him. “I - I didn't know how much I owed you or how much you needed, but -”

“Rylen I can't take this, I - you didn't have to do this -” she tried to push the cash back to him as she shook her head.

“Aye, I did. I owe you, you saved my life,” he insisted. “And I refuse to live off you, I'm more than capable of work.”

“Who hired you? I just - you don't have papers, what are you -” she rubbed her forehead with her fingers as she stared at the cash in front of her.

“Hank said not to worry about that, I told them I'm Scottish, like you called me,” he shrugged. “And no one seems too curious at the site, although - someone recognized me.”

“Someone - fuck. And who's Hank?” Abby stood straighter, suddenly more alert. Someone else was bound to recognize him eventually, but she worried about what it could mean.

“Oh, Hank is the boss,” he shrugged. “And don't worry about Russell, he's a good lad, if not a wee bit excitable.”

“So you're - you've been - I just - I - I need a smoke,” she sighed, and she waved a hand for him to follow her to the fire escape. Once outside she grabbed her stashed cigarettes and lighter and sat on the step like always, lighting her smoke and taking a drag.

Her mind was racing, still trying to comprehend the news she’d received from her lawyer, the reflections on her life that she had been lost in. And now Rylen had come home, with half a grand in cash, insistent that he help her. The last time she had accepted help, it had cost her dearly. But looking at him, the genuine way he had said he owed her, that he wanted to help - it didn’t feel like last time.

“You seem upset, lass, I - I wasn't hiding it from you,” he told her as he leaned against the metal railing and folded his arms. He frowned as he watched her, and for a moment she felt guilty that she hadn’t immediately thanked him and accepted the cash. The eager gleam he’d had in his eyes was gone, replaced instead by something that looked like concern, or embarrassment.

“Oh, god, no, I'm not - I'm not angry, it's just unexpected,” she hurried to assure him. “I mean I feel bad, I didn't mean to make you feel like a - a mooch or anything. I've understood, you were injured, and then your withdrawals, and you're not from here -”

“That doesn't mean I need you to support me like I'm just a young lad,” he shrugged. “I can pull my own weight. It's good to feel useful and busy, again. I was going a wee batty, sleeping all the time.”

Abby giggled and took another drag as she contemplated him. “So what are you doing?”

“Building a - a skyscraper? They said there were going to be houses, in it, like yours,” he gestured a hand at the window. He almost looked keen to tell her, to talk about what he had been doing.

“You're doing construction?” she raised her eyebrows as she regarded him.

“Aye - it's not much different from the work I did with my da when I was young,” he answered. “And Russell - the lad has been helpful, he’s explained the things I don’t understand without drawing any notice. It’s - it’s been a good week.”

“So this is where you’ve been? Working on - is it that new building site a few blocks away?” she mused, taking another drag.

“Started there Monday last,” he nodded, a small grin tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“Monday? You’ve learned the days of the week?” she teased softly.

“I had to, so I knew when to work,” he chuckled. “You - today is Tuesday, aye lass? You don’t - you don’t work Tuesdays, is that correct?”

“That’s right,” she took another drag, frowning slightly when she saw the way his face lit up at her answer.

“Russell told me that tonight there’s a - something called a moo-vy? In the park near that bridge, there,” he gestured to the Brooklyn Bridge and then turned sparkling aqua eyes back to her. “I was wondering, since you’re not working if we could - maybe we could go?”

“You want to go - did he tell you what a movie is?” she asked, letting out a few soft giggles at the prospect of Rylen seeing his first movie.

“He tried to explain, but I - I’m not entirely certain I understand the concept,” he shrugged. “So I suppose I’ll just have to see it to understand.”

“Did he say which movie? They’re - they’re all different,” she chewed her thumb thoughtfully. After all, she wasn’t working tonight, and the park was beautiful. No matter what movie it was, it was sure to be an unforgettable experience, as well as the distraction she likely needed.

“I think he said it was called ‘The Princess Bride?’” he tapped his chin as he thought. “Something like that, he - he said I would likely enjoy it -”

“‘The Princess Bride?’” Abby repeated eagerly. “I think you would, it’s - it’s one of my favorites, has been since I was a kid. When does it start?”

“Seven in the P.M.?” he answered hesitantly, but he watched her with an avid gaze as she turned her wrist to look at her watch.

“Perfect, we’ve got plenty of time,” she smiled and put out her cigarette. “Why don’t you take a shower and then we’ll go?”

“Aye, I’ll - I’ll be out shortly,” he agreed, a wide grin tugging up the tattoos on his chin as he took in her answer.

Rylen scrambled through the window, bending his large frame in half to make it. Abby followed, pursing her lips as she thought. She’d been sitting around the apartment all day in a loose tank top and running shorts, trying to clean what little she needed to considering how barren the place still was.

But she found herself suddenly eager to fix her hair and put on a bit of makeup, to change into a cute outfit and feel like herself again. After all, when was the last time she’d let herself do anything for fun? And his suggestion, the movie in the park - it would be free, and a chance to see him experience something so different from Thedas. She couldn’t quite figure out why she felt so giddy at the suggestion, but she knew she’d been stressing about too much shit lately and was looking forward to a night off from worrying.

As she crossed the apartment to the small suitcase that still held her clothes her eyes caught sight of the cash on the bar cart next to the opened bottle of whiskey. She wanted to be irritated, she wanted to tell him she didn’t need his help, that she could manage alone. But she thought about the soft look in his eyes when he gave it to her, the fact that he was trying to help her and not take care of her, and she smiled despite herself.

It was unexpected, like being treated as an equal, and by a man from a world she wouldn’t have expected it from. After all, there were knights, ladies, and he’d been a Templar with the Chantry - she expected him to treat her like a fragile object, not as a capable, independent woman, though that was how he was treating her. It was more than a little confusing.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket she opened her music and turned it on, deciding to distract herself with it while she got ready. She didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to mull everything over, she just wanted to get ready and enjoy herself for the evening as if her life wasn’t slowly falling apart. When the first few chords of the song started playing she smiled and began to dig through her clothes to pick out an outfit.

“ _Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above?_ ” she sang along, sorting through the contents of her suitcase, the contents of her life. " _Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?_ "

She found her light blue sweater and jeans, realizing that it was slightly chilly out for a spring evening. Her fingers slipped into the hair tie she had holding her hair back, tugging it out so she could fluff the strands. The shower was still going and she quickly stepped out of her clothes and yanked on the sweater and jeans.

“ _Well I’ve been afraid of changin’ ‘cause I’ve built my life around you_ ,” she continued with the song. “ _But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older too_.”

The shower turned off and she frowned a little, recognizing that again he had taken an insanely short shower. She had noticed that he had started to do that, and she worried that the morning she had snapped at him about the cost of water was the cause. With a sigh she fumbled for her mascara and small compact mirror in her purse, coating her top lashes with several wiggles of the thick brush.

The door to the bathroom opened and Rylen walked out with his towel wrapped around his hips, his chestnut hair damp and messy, likely from how he had rubbed it with the towel. He walked out as if it was normal, but when he caught her eye he almost flushed a little.

“Sorry, lass, forgot my clothes,” he muttered, gesturing with one hand to the pile of clean clothes she had left near the sofa for him.

“It’s - it’s fine, I’ll - um, I needed the bathroom anyway if you’re done?” she asked, trying to drag her eyes away from the tattoo across his broad chest.

“Aye, I’m done,” he nodded and walked over to the sofa, and before she could wait to see what he would do she fled into the sanctuary of the bathroom and closed the door. There wasn’t any condensation on the mirror and she frowned, since he had just showered and she expected the heat to have left the mirror fogged.

The rest of the time that she got ready she wondered over it, feeling slightly guilty at the gnawing thought that she had accidentally shamed him about his use of the shower. After all, how much would a shower really affect her water bill? It had just been the mood she’d been in that morning, gearing up to go back to the penthouse, short rent money. She hadn’t thought it would spur him to take cold showers and go out to find work while still recovering from lyrium withdrawal.

With one last look over her hair, one last tug on her sky blue sweater to tug it off one shoulder, one last swipe of tinted lip balm, she exited the bathroom. Rylen was standing by the bar cart, separating out some cash before he shoved it in his pocket. He then circled around the cart to stretch for the black and white polka dot jar stashed above the cabinets. She watched as he opened it and put the rest of the cash inside, smiling slightly to himself as he returned it to its hiding place.

Damn it, he was far too pleased about how he had helped her, but she couldn’t find the words or the will to chide him. After all, the money meant less stress about bills, about groceries - they could buy more food now, and resist living off Kraft Mac and Cheese or ramen.

“Ready to go?” she asked, looking over the green shirt and jeans he was wearing. His muscles were bulging in the shirt, the tattoos on his arms on display under his short sleeves.

“Aye, ready when you are, lass,” he nodded, casually sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

She nodded jerkily and grabbed her purse and one of the blankets from the sofa, trying to push aside and ignore the thoughts that kept bubbling to the surface, the recognition of all of his actions and help that he was giving her. They made their way into the hall and she locked up before they started down the stairs.

It was odd to her how comfortable she was walking beside him, especially after the day she had had. How was it that she wasn’t more apprehensive, more defensive in response to his actions? Instead they walked down the sidewalk and she made small talk, about the weather, about things she observed that she maybe needed to explain to him.

How was it that this felt more natural than years of being married to John?

The park wasn’t far, and when they reached it Abby smiled upon seeing the few food trucks that were parked along the sidewalk.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, turning eagerly to peer up at him.

“Aye, are you - that is, is there food?” he frowned, looking around.

“The trucks have food, they have menus - we could check them out,” she suggested, and she instinctively grabbed his free hand and pulled him behind her as she hurried to a food truck she recognized.

Pizza. When was the last time she’d let herself have pizza? It felt like ages, and it was one of her favorite foods. The idea of a slice was more than a little appealing.

She stopped in front of the truck and stared at the menu, and when Rylen looked lost she giggled and pointed at the written options. She began to explain in hushed whispers what things were, and he lowered his head until he was close enough to easily hear her. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear as she tried to explain the concept of pizza, and to her surprise his fingers tightened on hers where she held his hand.

“Honestly, you’d probably like sausage or pepperoni,” she told him. “Although cheese is a classic, and I mean what do I know, maybe you like anchovies -”

“What?” he murmured, turning his head to look down at her.

“Small, really salty fish,” she said with a giggle. “But pepperoni or sausage is maybe more your speed.”

“I’ll trust your judgment, lass,” he chuckled softly, “Here, I brought - I have money for both of us, if this is enough?”

Abby watched as his eyes scanned the small board attached to the food truck, and he held out a small wad of cash to her.

“Ry - Rylen, you didn’t have to -” she began to protest, gently pushing his hand away, but his gaze snapped to hers and he shook his head.

“I asked you to join me, it’s only right,” he shrugged. “Come now lass, let’s not argue about it - I want to see what this moo-vy is all about, and this - pete-zah?”

She giggled at his pronunciations, torn between correcting him and not. After all, the way he dragged out certain syllables was more than a little endearing.

When they reached the front of the line at the truck’s window, Abby smiled and ordered two Cokes and large slices of pepperoni pizza. The attendant gave her an amount, and before she could say anything Rylen unfurled the wad he was holding and counted out a few bills.

“Is this right?” he asked, smiling charmingly at the vendor.

They accepted and counted out his change, handing it back to him before they turned and tried to get the order together. When paper plates of greasy pepperoni pizza and large to-go cups of Coke were in their hands, Abby jerked her head in the direction of the rest of the park.

“Come on, I think we’re early enough we can get good seats,” she told him. She led him through the park until they found a spot in the middle, close enough to hear easily. Abby set down her Coke and pizza so that she could shake out the blanket she had brought along. “There we go.”

She giggled lightly as she took her place on the blanket and peered up at him. With a smirk he took his seat beside her. Sipping from her straw she watched as he lifted his slice of pizza and took a bite, giggling even more as too much cheese pulled off and got sauce on his tattooed chin.

“Eh, lass, stop laughing,” he teased as he took the paper napkin she handed him.

“I’m sorry I just - getting to see you experience this stuff for the first time, it’s - it’s fun,” she explained with a shrug. “And here, it’s easier if you eat it like this.”

Abby folded her slice and took a bite, smiling at him and giving him a small wink when she managed to avoid getting any sauce on her. He copied her and folded his slice, taking a cleaner bite as well.

“So what do you think?” she asked after she swallowed.

“It’s good,” he nodded, his mouth full of pepperoni. “Russell and I have been having - hot dogs? They’re strange, I didn’t think your people would eat dogs, but then again I haven’t seen any mabaris -”

He cut off when she started laughing, turning his head to give her a frown.

“They’re not actually dogs,” she told him when her laughter calmed. “That’s just what they’re called.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Good, I - I felt a bit guilty, the Commander would have been horrified to know I’d eaten a dog.”

His brows knitted together for a moment, and a thoughtful silence passed before he raised his Coke to his lips and took a sip through the straw. Abby watched him and then contemplated her pizza.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, trying to act casual.

He shrugged and gave her a small grin. “I got out of there right when things went batty, I should count myself lucky,” he laughed, but she noticed the way the smile didn’t reach his eyes, the way the chuckles stopped abruptly. “I’m fine, lass, don’t worry about me.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the couple nearest them suddenly made a show of taking a selfie in which they were kissing, and Rylen frowned as he watched them.

“What are they doing?” he pointed casually at their phone, and then glanced down at hers lying on the blanket.

“Taking a picture,” she explained. “Russell told you about movies, right? How they’re moving pictures? Well we can use our phone to do the same, moving or not.”

His eyebrows raised high as he looked at her. “You can make moo-vys?”

“Well, sort of,” she giggled. “Here, I’ll - it’s easiest if I just show you.”

She set her paper plate and Coke aside, opening the camera on her phone and scooting closer to him. He watched her eagerly, staring down at her as she leaned back against his shoulder and held her phone up.

“Smile, and look up here,” she told him, pointing at the camera. She took the picture and lowered her arm, swiping the photo open so that he could see it.

“I - that’s us,” he commented, staring with wide eyes at the photo.

“Yep,” she nodded, fascinated by the way he was studying it.

She looked between him and the phone, but more and more she found herself just staring at the photo as well. Rylen was looking a bit to the right of the camera, but he was smiling brightly just as she’d told him to. But what was more curious to her was the equally bright, wide smile on her face.

When was the last time she’d seen it?

“Lass?”

“Hm?” she looked up from the photo to see Rylen watching her intently. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked - does the picture stay? It - what happens to it?” he repeated, frowning slightly as his eyes roamed over her face.

“Oh! Yeah, unless I delete it, it stays,” she answered, trying to pull herself out of her thoughts.

“Will you - will you keep it?” he asked, something hesitant and endearing in his tone.

“Of course,” she told him with a smile. Suddenly aware of the fact that she was still leaning on him, she pushed herself upright and locked her phone screen again. “So, ready to experience your first movie?”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Russell couldn’t stop talking about it, he kept quoting it. Said, I think - ‘inconceivable’ - quite a bit. He thinks I’ll like someone named Indeego -”

“Inigo,” she corrected softly, but then hummed as she thought for a moment. “Actually I think you’ll like Wesley more -”

But before she could explain the large projector screen lit up, and an old Looney Tunes cartoon began to run. Rylen’s eyes widened as he stared at the screen, and he turned a silent and questioning frown to her.

“Oh right, I forgot they play these before the movie. It’s a cartoon,” she told him quietly. “Someone drew it, someone did the voices, and they put the drawings together to make this.”

“They’re very talented,” he commented, but he fell silent as he stared raptly at the cartoon. He laughed at a few of the jokes, a few seemed to go over his head. And Abby noticed a few times that he glanced at her when she laughed, though whether he was trying to take cues from her or was just curious she didn’t know.

The cartoon ended, and _The Princess Bride_ began, and Abby found herself watching Rylen more than the screen. She had the movie mostly memorized anyway, considering how much she had watched it when she was younger, and even as an adult. Rylen occasionally leaned over and asked for clarification, but for the most part he simply watched, a slight frown on his face as he took it all in.

When Wesley and Buttercup appeared onscreen he pointed and raised an eyebrow, and she nodded at his silent question about Wesley. Still she found herself watching his reactions, the way he paid such close attention. After a while he shifted on the blanket and laid on his stomach to watch, and she found herself relaxing and leaning closer to him as she sipped her Coke.

Rylen laughed at most of the jokes, and she heard him scoff at Fezzik being called a giant. “More like an Avvar,” she heard him mutter, and when she giggled he glanced at her and winked.

He grumbled during the duel between the Dread Pirate Roberts and Inigo Montoya, and he leaned over and whispered corrections about the swordplay to her, telling her that none of those techniques were a real thing. He seemed slightly confused when she dissolved into a fit of laughter at his hushed observations. When they reached the Fire Swamp, he asked if it was a real place, but she quietly explained that it was a fantasy and wasn’t real. He shook his head and muttered something about “what a shame” and then went back to watching.

Abby slipped off her Converse and casually leaned into him, letting herself use him to prop herself up as she relaxed. He barely gave her a small glance when she rested her hand on his back. It felt natural, she felt at peace, simply enjoying the movie and his reactions to it, not thinking at all about anything but the moment.

“Lass, does a machine like that exist?” he whispered as Wesley was being tortured.

Her first reply was too quiet and he looked back at her to encourage her to repeat herself. She leaned forward so that she could speak into his ear, and after she assured him no such machine existed, he turned his head quickly to look at her so he could say something.

She could taste his breath, their noses almost touching, her vision filled with aqua eyes and tanned skin. They both froze, and Abby’s breath hitched, but after what felt like a long moment she suddenly sat back and pulled away.

Rylen stared at her for a moment, and then cleared his throat and looked back at the screen. There was something thoughtful in the way he was watching the movie now, but Abby leaned away from him and kept her eyes on the screen, no longer letting her gaze wander to him. Her heart raced for several minutes, and she frowned, irritated.

Just because it had been a while didn’t mean she should be acting this way, and she mentally scolded herself.

He didn’t ask any other questions the rest of the movie, and Abby quietly lamented the way such a small moment had ruined the feeling of ease that she had felt. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she was so angry with herself, but she hardly paid attention to the end of the movie - even though it almost always cheered her up.

“That was good, lass,” Rylen commented as the credits began to roll. “I’m - I’m assuming it’s over?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, it’s - this is just the list of everyone who worked on it,” she gestured at the scrolling words, trying to listen to the song, trying to remember how it always made her feel.

“And you said that was your favorite?” he asked, glancing up at her with an interested gleam in his eyes.

“One of my favorites, yeah,” she nodded. “It was my favorite when I was a kid, I used to watch it all the time.”

“Here?”

“Oh, no, at home, on the TV,” she told him. “A - smaller screen.”

“Ah,” he mused, and then he turned thoughtful. “I suppose a romance makes sense -”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she interrupted quickly, shooting him a glare.

“Well, you just seem the romantic type,” he chuckled. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, after all lass you were married, unless that was some sort of an arrangement?”

“I - no, it wasn’t, it was - I was young and foolish,” she grumbled.

“We all make mistakes,” he shrugged.

“Some worse than others,” she sighed. “Should we go? It’s getting late.”

“Aye, I suppose so,” he agreed, and pushed himself to his feet. He reached a hand down to help her up and she reluctantly took it, trying not to notice how warm his skin was against hers. She released his hand quickly and brushed off her pants, sliding her sneakers back on before bending to pick up the blanket. “I’ve got it, lass, here -”

He bent as well and helped gather their trash and the blanket, nodding with his head for her to lead the way. She heaved a sigh, realizing he likely wouldn’t let her help carry anything, and so she slung her purse over her shoulder and began to walk through the park. When they passed a trash can he threw away their garbage and shifted the folded blanket to carry it under one arm.

“So you watched that moo-vy when you were younger? With your family?” he asked.

“I - I watched it by myself a lot,” she said softly. “It was just my mom and I, and she was at work most of the time.”

“What about your da?” he frowned down at her.

“He - he died before I was born,” she told him, folding her arms and staring down at her feet as they walked through the park. “In a mugging. Someone - someone tried to rob him, and they shot him when he resisted. He died alone in an alley when my mom was pregnant with me.”

“Maker - lass I’m so sorry,” he said, and he reached a hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently before dropping it to his side once more.

“He was on his way home from the store, he’d grabbed a pink teddy bear for me, they’d - they’d just found out they were having a girl,” she explained. She wasn’t sure why she was still talking, but for some reason she wanted to tell him, even though she hadn’t talked about it in so long. “That’s why she named me Abigail, actually - it means ‘father’s joy,’ because she said he had been so happy that he was going to have a daughter.”

“Abigail? Is that - is Abby short for that?” he asked, frowning at her.

“Yeah, but - no one’s called me Abigail in years,” she shrugged. They were walking along the street, almost to their building. The neighborhood was relatively quiet, since it was a Tuesday night, and they strolled slowly, not in a hurry to get back.

“I like it,” he mused. “It’s beautiful, it suits you.”

She giggled and shook her head. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered.

“So do you have any siblings?” he asked, clearing his throat slightly and looking away from how he had been staring at her.

“No, my mom never remarried,” she said. “She said that was it for her, that my dad had been the love of her life, her soul mate. So it was just us.”

“Her soul mate? Does such a thing exist?” he raised an eyebrow at her as he pulled the door to their building open, standing back so that she could walk in first.

“Depends on who you ask,” she told him with a small laugh. “I like to think so, though, as cheesy as that sounds.”

“Cheesy?”

“Um - lame,” she corrected.

“Ah,” he nodded and seemed lost in thought for a few moments, climbing the stairs next to her in silence. “I can see how you’d think they do, lass. Your ma and da, and growing up watching that moo-vy all the time. If it makes you feel better, I think so too.”

She laughed and stared at him, incredulous. “You? Really?”

“Aye,” he said emphatically. “I think there’s someone out there for all of us. You just have to look and try to find them.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” she accused, sticking the key in the lock of the apartment and flipping the light switch as they walked in.

“I would never, Abigail,” he assured her, but he had a mischievous gleam in his eyes and seemed to be fighting a smirk as he said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now have some art of this scene by the amazing and ever talented [Sloth-Race](https://sloth-race.tumblr.com/), who was kind enough to indulge my crazy and make an absolutely BEAUTIFUL picture of Abby and Rylen in the park. *insert heart eyes emoji and me crying tears of joy every time I look at it.*
> 
>  


	8. You, Lost and Lonely

“Why is it called relish?”

“I dunno, actually, that’s just what we all call it,” Russell shrugged as he held out his paper container with his two hot dogs for the vendor to put toppings on. “Get some though, it’s better than the sauerkraut.”

“You led me astray there, lad,” Rylen chuckled but took his advice, holding out his hot dogs as well for the strange green relish.

“Yeah, sorry man, I just thought you’d be a fan,” the younger man told him. “I thought maybe since you said you liked anchovies -”

“No, my lass thought I might like anchovies,” Rylen corrected absently, and then he shook his head. “Abby, that is. When she was describing pete-zah to me.”

For a moment Russell stared at him blankly and then he laughed. “It is still just so wicked to hear you talk about having things like pizza explained to you,” he said, almost sounding in awe. “And answering questions about the movie - I mean, that was so awesome. I feel honored. But why didn’t you just ask your lass?”

The way he emphasized the last two words made Rylen self-conscious of the way he always slipped and called her that. The last few days they had both been busy with work, since she worked nights and he worked days, and he hadn’t been able to address the moment in the park. The moment when he had had to refrain from kissing her, when her tempting mouth had been so close to his. It had come crashing over him like a tidal wave, the realization of why he loved seeing her smile so much, the way he wanted to protect her and make her happy.

Before he had thought that she was just a beautiful lass he felt indebted to, since she had saved his life twice. But he was quickly coming to terms with the realization that it was, in fact, something quite different from that.

“Something wrong with your dogs, Rylen?”

“Hm?” He glanced up, realizing he’d been staring at nothing, lost in thought. “Oh, aye, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“You do that a lot when Abby comes up,” Russell mused, and then he gave a sly grin and nudged Rylen with his elbow. “Think I know what that means - you totally have the hots for the Earth girl!”

“Have the - what?” Rylen frowned as he took a bite of his hot dog. He was momentarily distracted by the presence of the relish, but after some chewing he decided that it wasn’t half bad.

“The hots - you’re totally into her, aren’t you?” Russell laughed, but when he saw Rylen’s continual frown he shook his head. “You like her, you want her - oh man, I just - when do I get to meet her? You said she knew who you were, right? So like - is she a super babe? I mean she games, but is she -”

“Calm down, lad, no need to get so excited,” Rylen chided him. “I’m not entirely certain what - I mean to say, it’s - it’s complicated.”

“How can it be complicated?” Russell sounded incredulous. He held up a hand and began counting with his fingers as he listed. “She saved your life, she knows who you are, you’re living with her, she’s helping you adjust, she went with you to a movie, she -”

“Eh, Russell, when you list them all like that all I hear are things I owe the lass for,” Rylen grumbled. He took another large bite off his hot dog and let his gaze wander over the street. The hot dog vendor set up every day outside of the site, selling his wares to the workers and anyone passing on the street. It was becoming routine to grab lunch here, and stand speaking with Russell or the other workers, until Rylen didn’t feel like much of an outsider. It seemed that anything he said that was odd to anyone was explained away by him being “Scottish” and the others simply laughed and carried on.

“-I’m just saying if she’s a New Yorker and she’s helping you that much there has to be something there,” Russell was saying when Rylen shook his head and tried to refocus on his friend beside him. “New Yorkers aren’t known for their hospitality -”

“No, I can’t think like that,” Rylen denied. “The lass is - no, she couldn’t -”

“Why not? I mean - she has a mirror, doesn’t she? You’ve seen yourself, right?” Russell let out a laugh. “Do you know how many guys here on Earth would kill to be as - as big and strong as you? I mean I tried going to the gym, but I just couldn’t quite,” he flexed his arm, “I mean I just - I already knew everything I needed to. That’s all.” He trailed off awkwardly and cleared his throat.

“Even if she thinks I’m - that’s neither here nor there,” Rylen protested. “The lass is married, Russ. I can’t get involved, I can’t - I need to ignore it.”

“Wait she’s _married_?” Russell’s jaw dropped as he frowned at him.

“They’re - I can’t remember the word for it,” Rylen shook his head. “I was in my withdrawals, but she told me they’re not going to be married anymore. She doesn’t live with him, she said she left -”

“Ohhh,” Russell hummed. “They’re getting a divorce?”

“Aye, that’s the word.”

“Well no problem, then,” Russell shrugged and stuffed his hot dog into his mouth. “‘E’s ‘air ga’, den,” he said around the large bite he was chewing.

“She’s what?” Rylen lifted his eyebrows, watching his young friend try to chew more quickly before he swallowed.

“She’s fair game, then,” Russell said once his mouth was empty once more. “If they’re getting a divorce, I mean - she’s free. And you said she left him, so - make your move, bro. You’re not stepping on any toes.”

“She said they’re still married, though,” Rylen mused, pursing his lips as he looked around the street. Abigail certainly wasn’t happy, she certainly didn’t want to be with her husband any longer, and having witnessed their interactions that day in the hall Rylen couldn’t blame her.

“On a technicality,” Russell stressed the word. “But at this point, no one would frown upon it, I mean - they’re only sort of married.”

“You’re either married or you aren’t,” Rylen pointed out.

Russell waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe in,” he lowered his voice and looked around quickly, “Thedas, but here - there are more grey areas. Trust me, she’s basically not married, especially not if she dislikes the guy.”

Rylen frowned at the last words, thinking back over that day in the hall. Her husband had had her up against the wall, his mouth only a fraction of an inch away from hers. And Abigail - for as angry and upset as she had acted after the fact, he remembered the look on her face when he found them like that. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, leaning back on the wall like her knees were weak.

He felt his insides twist when he remembered it, and he realized that the pang he had felt then must have been jealousy, and not just an impulse to protect her. After all, she had said that she chose the match, that she had made the decision, and that meant that there was a time she had cared for him greatly. A sudden image of her caving and gladly accepting the other man’s attentions entered his mind, taunting him with the knowledge that at one time that had been the case, that she had accepted many kisses in the past from him. And more, as well.

Shaking his head to try to banish the image of Abby in the older man’s arms, he shoved the rest of his hot dog in his mouth and looked around, trying instead to mull over Russell’s words as he chewed. It was true, she wasn’t going to be married anymore, and if that meant she was free to choose again…

He remembered the way she had frozen so close to his face, the way she had been leaning so comfortably on him, the smile on her face in the picture they had taken together using her phone.

Maybe the lass wouldn’t mind choosing him.

“Russ,” he began slowly, “what - what is courting like on Earth? How does a man go about letting a lass know that he - that he wants her?”

Russell's eyes widened and he stared for a moment before he started laughing. “You want to - I was right! Oh man -”

“Eh lad, you don't have to go shouting about everything,” Rylen chided him. “Just - say I was interested in the lass. How - how would I let her know? I don't know any of your customs, and the lass is ending her marriage.”

“Well I mean, it can't be too different from Thedas, right?” Russell asked quietly as he glanced from side to side once more. “Unless you traded lasses for goats -”

“No, we didn't trade lasses for _goats_. And anyway, I was a simple Templar,” Rylen shrugged. “I never expected anything longer than a brief romance, a tumble or two. It didn't really fit with the life. Family, love - it wasn't forbidden, it was just - not practical.”

“Okay, well - then how did you get lasses to _tumble_ with you?” Russ asked, and he chuckled slightly as he repeated the word.

Rylen shook his head. “I can't use those tactics on Abigail, I -”

“Wait since when is she ‘Abigail?’” Russell began laughing even harder. “Oh man you really _do_ have the hots for her -”

“All right so maybe I do,” Rylen conceded. “Come on, lad, stop laughing and tell me about your customs. I want more than a tumble or two with her, I can't just seduce her with tales of my exploits and pretty words -”

“Actually that would still probably work,” Russell mused. “Well, so - I mean, girls want you to spend time with them, and listen to them, and -”

“Abigail isn't a girl, Russell, she's a woman,” Rylen interrupted. “A beautiful, strong, feisty woman who has enough going on without me trying to -”

“I meant woman - and don't sell yourself short, I mean - other women would have maybe kicked you out by now,” Russell shrugged. “Instead she went with you to a movie. How did she act while you were out together?”

Rylen cleared his throat and looked around. “She was friendly, she talked with me, we - we had a nice time -”

“You're being weird - did something happen?” Russell's eyes widened as he peered up at Rylen. “Something totally happened -”

“It - nothing really happened, but,” Rylen sighed and shook his head. “There was a moment, she was leaning on me, and our faces were close - I nearly kissed her but - I didn't think it appropriate -”

“Aw man you missed your chance!” Russell exclaimed. “That would have been perfect, first kiss in a park - chicks dig romantic stuff like that.”

“So you're saying I should, what - take her back to the park?” Rylen frowned, wondering if it really was that simple.

“Not necessarily, just - that sounded like a perfect opportunity,” Russell shook his head, brows furrowed as he thought hard. “Women like romance, and being swept off their feet. Surely it was the same in Thedas, but here, I mean - women are more used to like, being exposed to big romantic gestures. Movies are full of them, but in New York especially, just -”

“Big romantic gestures?” Rylen raised an eyebrow as they began to walk back onto the site, passing through the gate in the fence. “Those are common here?”

“Oh yeah, you see them all the time,” Russell explained, raising his voice as they passed some of the noisier machines at work. “I was in Central Park once and saw this guy in a horse-drawn carriage, popping champagne with some violinist serenading his girlfriend. It was ridiculous, it was like a Tuesday -”

“Central Park? Was that - is that the park I was at?” Rylen asked, raising his own voice as they straightened their hard hats and returned to their work.

“No, it’s in another part of the city, Manhattan,” Russell explained eagerly. “Has Abby - sorry, _Abigail_ \- not taken you on a tour of the city? I figured that would be like - day one!”

“She’s been busy,” Rylen shook his head. “She’s in a tough situation, lad.”

“Oh, right, the divorce,” Russell realized and nodded his head. “Well you should ask her to show you around, I mean - there’s so much here -”

But the rest of his advice was drowned out by the noise of their work, and Rylen lost himself in thought.

Big romantic gestures? Those weren’t really his style, even if he wanted more than a single night of pleasure from her. He thought too about how she was, the things she was going through, and something told him a grand gesture wouldn’t be the right way.

She was a lass who drank whiskey straight from the bottle and had tattoos, who smoked and cursed and didn’t want anyone to see her in her weak moments. He remembered the way she had tried to push him away when she cried, the way she had acted out of her element to accept his comfort. She had accused her husband of keeping her under his thumb, and it had been obvious that he carried himself as if the world should be served to him on a silver platter, similar to the affluent elites of the nobility in Thedas.

No, grand romantic gestures weren’t the way. He didn’t want her to compare him in her mind to what she was trying to leave behind. The lass needed a fresh start, and he knew he could never offer her the things her husband could. It was better if she knew that right away, if that was, by any small chance, what she was looking for in a partner.

He tried to come up with a plan, mulling over things Russell had said. When he left work that evening, he thanked the lad and meandered down the streets toward the apartment they shared, wiping sweat from his brows. She wouldn’t be home, he had more time to figure out what he could do. Tomorrow was Saturday, if he recalled correctly, which meant that he didn’t work, and she would be free in the morning.

Perhaps there was something he could convince her to do, some small way he could show his interest and see how she responded.

After all, the lass deserved romance, and he wanted to show her that he cared - more than he had originally realized. But he was determined to do it his way, even if it wasn’t the custom here.

 

* * *

 

Rylen awoke with the sun, just as he always did. He had finally managed to convince Abigail to sleep on the sofa once more, and he sat up to stretch out the kinks in his shoulders and back from lying on the floor all night.

He didn’t mind, not really. If it weren’t for his withdrawals he’d be fine, able to hop up as soon as he awoke, ready to take on the day immediately. But everything already ached, and adding in the hard wood every night didn’t help. Still, he made it a point not to complain.

When he casually brought up a bed, she grumbled something under her breath that sounded like “not until I get _my_ bed,” and then she hurried out the window for a smoke. It left him perplexed, but he didn’t press the matter. He was beginning to learn her moods, recognizing the way she seemed to use the smokes and whiskey to deal with the stress, as if she was coping by avoiding the feelings, avoiding the problems.

It was making him wonder at what point she was going to crack, no longer able to avoid confronting the stresses she was facing. Drink and smokes only worked for so long, he knew. How many soldiers, how many Templars had he seen try the same thing, only to fall too far over the edge, unable to cope any longer?

Too many. And he worried that it could happen to her, as well.

He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled to the bathroom, trying to pad carefully across the wooden floors so that he didn’t wake her. She had gotten in late, and when he had awoken with the sound of her opening the door he had noticed her stumbling slightly, cursing under her breath. It was common, though she tried her best to be quiet and not wake him as she got ready for bed and collapsed onto the sofa with a huff.

When he switched on the light in the small bathroom he squinted his eyes, struggling for a moment to adjust to the unnatural lighting. It was still odd to him, so bright and harsh against his vision. He could feel a headache coming on, and he swung open the small cabinet on the wall and grabbed the bottle she always handed him. Tipping two pills into his hand he rescrewed the top, noticing the chill in his fingers and the way they moved just slightly more clumsily than normal.

At least today he didn’t have to work, if he was going to have to power through his withdrawals. A shower would help, and Abigail had corrected what she had said about the water, had rolled her eyes and assured him it would be fine if he took longer, hot showers. After all, she’d sighed, he was helping pay the bills.

She didn’t seem annoyed that he was, necessarily, but he could tell that it bothered her. He couldn’t tell if it came from a place of guilt or stubbornness, and he wished the lass wouldn’t feel either. He owed her, simple as that, and if he was going to live here he could pay his own way.

Maybe he’d speak with her about that this morning as well, assure her of his intentions and motivations, to help clear up any doubt.

The hot flow of the water helped ease his aches some, and he held his hands under the stream and flexed his fingers. By the time he turned off the shower, they weren’t quite as stiff. It was a small relief.

He dressed quickly in the blue trousers - jeans, he’d been told - and pulled on one of the shirts Abigail got him as he walked out of the bathroom. She was awake, sitting up on the sofa rubbing her eyes, her hair a disheveled mess of chocolate and gold strands.

Rylen felt his heart race, and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk at the sight of her groggy and adorably grumpy. “Morning,” he greeted her as he walked into the kitchen and picked up the cylindrical glass and metal pot she used to make coffee. “You got in late.”

“Friday night,” she grumbled, her voice sleepy and slurred. “And there were a lot of dudebros out, but they drank a shit ton of beer. I made three hundred dollars, I should wear that top more often.”

He frowned at her words, thinking back to how she had looked when she came stumbling in late. It had been a black strappy top, revealing her tattooed shoulder and low enough that even half-asleep he’d had to drag his gaze away from the sight. The implication that she had made money from these ‘dudebros’ for that top put a slight damper on the excitement he had felt since waking.

But he had a plan, and he would stick to it. “That’s good coin, lass,” he commented as he began to measure out coffee. She had shown him how she made it, just to explain what coffee was, and when he caught her eye he noticed her frowning as she watched him.

“So you drink coffee now?” she asked, wiping at the black makeup smudged under her eye with her delicate fingers.

“Not really, lass,” he shrugged as he answered. “This is for you. Thought you’d like some to go with breakfast.”

“I -” she trailed off and her hand dropped in her lap as she simply stared at him. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” he smiled brightly at her, taking note of the way she seemed to fluster at his words. He cleared his throat as he filled the kettle to heat the water he needed. “I was wondering, lass - you have the morning free, right?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, and she swung her legs off the sofa and stretched. “Don’t have to be at work until three. Why?”

“I - I heard at work that there’s some things in the city I should see,” he tried to keep the suggestion casual, tried to keep the eagerness and determination from being obvious to her. “I know we saw that movie in the park, but - Russell told me about a bigger park, um - Center Park?” he mused, messing it up on purpose to hide how much he’d been thinking about asking.

“Central Park?” she corrected softly, and she frowned and covered a yawn. “Yeah, it’s really pretty. You’re right, I guess I haven’t really shown you around, I’ve been - busy. Did you want to go?”

He shrugged as he poured the hot water over the ground up coffee in the glass pot. “If you didn’t have any other plans, lass,” he told her. “I just - I miss the trees, I miss - this area, your city - it’s nice. I’m just not used to this much - stone, this many people all the time.”

A soft, understanding look came into her eyes and she nodded. “Yeah, I bet,” she agreed quietly. “Let me take a shower and try to - wake the fuck up. But yeah, we can go.”

“Excellent,” he smiled brightly at her and continued preparing the coffee. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she walked slowly into the bathroom, taking in the loose, slightly revealing top and short pants she was wearing. His gaze wandered over her mostly bare legs, her bare arms, and when she passed him he finally caught a glance of the tattoo she had mentioned on her back. Two small grey semi-circles, lining her spine and leading further down.

He cleared his throat and looked away, trying not to think about how much he wanted to see the rest of the tattoo. All in good time, if things went the way he wanted them to.

While he listened to the water of the shower running he went to the refrigerator and opened it, grabbing the eggs and rashers of bacon from a shelf. He had watched her do this, when she had cooked for them, and he knew it wouldn’t be that difficult to figure out. She had explained the stove to him, and it wasn’t really all that different from cooking in Thedas.

It just involved switches and levers instead of lighting a real fire.

Rylen set to work, frying bacon in the pan he always saw her use, turning it occasionally with a fork as he worked. At first it was odd, the idea that this smooth surface could heat like a fire to cook things, but considering the other things he had seen he was coming to terms with the general concept. This world was unusual, though not entirely different from his - it just took some adjusting, and some learning. He had always been a problem solver, though, and so he put his skills to work and focused, intent on doing even this small thing for her.

When the bacon was done he moved it to a plate and then cracked eggs into the pan, stirring them with the fork and cooking them in the bacon fat. He heard the shower turn off, and smiled as he finished up the eggs. He hoped that she liked them, that he had managed to cook them well enough for her.

The door to the bathroom opened and she walked out, her hair damp and her skin shining so that she almost looked as if she was glowing, and he smiled when he saw her. She was wearing a grey shirt and a pair of jeans, and she was rubbing something in a thin tube over her lips as she frowned.

“Are you - did you make breakfast?” she asked, and he noted the tone of surprise in her voice as she put away the small tube in her pocket.

“Aye, thought you could use something to eat,” he explained as he served the egg onto two plates. “The coffee should be ready too.”

“Look at you, becoming domestic,” she mused softly. “You’re starting to pass as a real Earthling now.”

“You think so?” he asked, and he shot her a grin over his shoulder. She smirked but then quickly looked down at where she was lowering the plunger of the glass coffee pot and didn’t say anything else.

“Are eggs and bacon enough for you, lass?” he asked as he finished fixing up their plates.

“Yeah, that’s - that’s perfect,” she muttered. “Thank you, you didn’t have to cook for me.”

“I wanted to,” he answered simply, and he felt his stomach flip when he saw the soft smile and blush that came to her face at his words.

“So - Central Park?” she asked, and he noticed the way she seemed to be trying to move away from the topic of breakfast and what he was doing for her. “Any particular reason, or?”

“Russell mentioned it,” he answered as he handed her the plate he had made for her. “But also it just - it sounds beautiful, it sounds like something I - we - would both enjoy.”

“You’re probably right,” she shrugged and took a bite of bacon. Her eyebrows raised and she looked at him with a smile, gesturing the bacon casually, as if with approval. “It’s beautiful. I’m sorry I hadn’t thought about whether or not you were feeling - claustrophobic? Out of place? I - anyway, yeah, I should have thought of it sooner. You’re probably more used to nature.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, lass,” he assured her. “I just thought it would be a good way to spend the morning.”

She smiled as she took a bite of her eggs, and her eyes widened slightly. “This is really good,” she commented, pointing with her fork. “The eggs are tasty - did you guys eat stuff like this in Thedas?”

“Similar,” he answered, smiling at the soft praise she was giving him. “I’m glad you like it, Abigail.”

Her smile widened for a moment and then she looked away, focusing on her breakfast. They fell into a silence that wasn’t quite comfortable, but was by no means awkward. It just was, neither of them seeming to know what to talk about. When Abigail finished her breakfast and coffee she set her dishes in the sink and then glanced at her watch.

“Let me finish getting ready and then we can go,” she told him, and closed the bathroom door behind her. After a moment or two he heard the whirring noise of the small device she used to dry her wet hair, and for some reason it brought a smile to his face.

She had enjoyed his cooking, had agreed to accompany him to the park, and was getting ready as if she cared about how she looked.

So far, his plan was working perfectly.

While she got ready he did the dishes, thinking of the curious expression on her face every time he did something small like cook or clean for her. What sort of man had her husband been that his small actions seemed an oddity?

Abigail emerged from the bathroom, her hair full like always, and she looked as if she had put something like kohl on her lashes and eyes and a soft pink rouge on her lips. She smiled when she saw him and grabbed her purse. “Ready?”

He nodded, trying to drag his gaze away from the way she was looking at him. As he followed her out of the apartment he ran a hand through his wavy hair to fix it a bit, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a lout next to her after the effort she had put in.

“We’ll have to take the subway,” Abigail told him as they made their way down the stairs. “Should be fun, that’s another thing I should have shown you already.”

“The what-way?” he asked with a frown.

“Subway,” she repeated. “It’s a way to get around, a - hm I’m trying to think how to explain it without using the word train.”

She laughed after she said that, and the sound was welcome to his ears, further proof that so far the morning was going well. A smile lingered on her face as they walked down the sidewalk, making casual conversation about the weather and the area.

They passed his work site and he pointed out a few things, eager to tell her what he’d been doing. And still, she smiled as she asked questions.

But when she led him down some stairs that went below the street he raised an eyebrow, looking around curiously. She went to a machine on the wall and it beeped as she touched it, and he watched her attentively as she inserted cash into a slot. It printed out a tiny piece of paper, which she passed to him.

“It’s your fare,” she explained. “Come on.”

She was still smiling as she led him through the crowd, and she grabbed his wrist to keep him with her as they pushed through something she called turnstiles. For as tiny as she was, she walked briskly, deftly maneuvering through the clusters of bustling people. It almost made his head spin as he looked around them, taking in just how busy this place was.

When they stopped near a ledge that had a short drop into what looked like a stone ditch, he looked around and then turned a frown to her. “What are we waiting for, lass?”

“The subway,” she explained, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh good, there’s one in a minute.”

“I thought this was the subway,” he mused.

“It’s the subway station,” she told him. “So you’re right, in a way. But the subway is also the train, it’s the - you’ll see. It moves under the city, it’ll get us across town to Central Park.”

“I see,” he said, nodding as if he understood, but the concept was confusing to him. “Who built this? Do you have Dwarves? It looks like the Deep Roads, or something I’ve heard about in Orzammar -”

“Shh!” she hissed, glancing around. She lowered her voice and he leaned down so he could hear her over the noise. “We don’t have dwarves like you did, and don’t go saying that so loudly. Here, that word - people might take it the wrong way if they hear you say it.”

He nodded again as he straightened, trying to mull over why the word Dwarf would be a bad thing. But he was distracted by a loud squealing noise followed by a rumble, and a large metal carriage, larger than the cars he had finally gotten used to, sped along the ditch in front of them. It wasn’t just a single carriage, it was many, all connected. Through the windows he could see many passengers on it, some sitting and some standing and holding onto rails.

When it stopped in front of them, the carriage doors slid to the side and several people exited. He had hardly a moment to try to wrap his mind around all of it before Abigail grabbed his wrist again and pulled him into the carriage behind her.

“Here, be sure you hold on,” she told him, and a small smirk was pulling at the corners of her lips as she watched him take it all in.

The doors closed once more and the carriage lurched suddenly, and Rylen grabbed the railing near his head as he stumbled slightly into her. She giggled, again, her hands gripping his waist as he collided with her as if she was trying to keep them both up.

“Sorry, lass, I -”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, still giggling as she tightened her hold on him, waiting to make sure he was steady. “I’m sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise to see how you reacted.”

“Oh, aye, very funny,” he teased, but he smiled at the way she was still laughing, the hold she maintained on his waist. She was leaning casually against him, too short to reach the railing he was holding, and he realized she was holding onto him to avoid falling over with the motion of the carriage. He planted his feet more firmly to prevent himself swaying, swallowing hard as he continued to focus on the feeling of her pressing her body against his.

To distract himself he looked out the glass windows of the carriage, but it was dark, as if they were moving through a tunnel. A few times the carriage slowed to a stop at other places similar to the station they had been in, and people exited and entered every time the doors opened.

The whole ride she stayed pressed against him, squeezing tighter to him as they got jostled around by the crowd of passengers. To steady her he let his free hand rest on her lower back, holding on to her as the subway moved.

“Ours is the next stop,” she finally said, and she released him and prepared to move through the crowd to get to the door.

He lamented the loss of her against him for a moment, but cleared his throat and carefully followed her, trying to keep his footing as the carriage slowed to a stop. When the doors opened they both made their way onto the platform, and she took his hand and once again wove through the crowd to the stairs that would take them out of the station.

The noise of the cars on the street and the multitudes of people that greeted their emergence from the station disoriented him for a moment. He glanced down to see her looking up at him, as if checking to make sure he was all right. His reassuring smile was met with another bright grin of her own, and she tugged his hand gently to encourage him to follow her.

They crossed one street and then slowed, and she gestured a hand in a flourish. “Central Park, good ser!” she said with a giggle. “Come on, there’s a lot to see.”

She tugged his hand again and he followed slowly, letting his eyes wander over the trees and letting her lead him where she may. It was quite a sight, after being surrounded by mostly stone for so many weeks. The verdant leaves were plentiful, and interspersed with blooming trees in pink and white.

The park was crowded with other people, most walking and enjoying the sights, others wearing brightly colored tight clothes and running. Everywhere he looked was beautiful, though somehow even the scenes of nature around him paled in comparison to the soft smile tugging up the corners of her lips as she looked around.

“I used to come walk through here all the time,” she told him after they had been walking silently for a few minutes. “I - we - didn’t live far, and whenever I hit writer’s block I’d come for a walk to look at the cherry blossoms, or the leaves changing colors.”

“Writer’s block?” he asked, latching onto the most unfamiliar part of what she said.

“Oh, right - I write, it’s - what I want to do, really,” she explained, and she released his hand finally and folded her arms. “So when I ran out of inspiration or was struggling, I’d come out here and try to get the juices flowing again, so to speak.”

“I’m certain it helped, it’s beautiful here, lass,” he mused, looking around. The flowering trees must be the cherry blossoms she had mentioned. “What do you write?”

“Stories,” she answered simply. “I was trying to finish a novel to get published, John had a friend at a publishing house, I was setting up meetings with an editor when - well. I’ll get back to it when I have time.”

Rylen thought about books in Thedas, remembering meeting the author Varric Tethras on the trip from Kirkwall to Haven. Before he could ask if she knew of Varric as well as him, she spoke again.

“How about you? I mean, did you always want to be a Templar?” she asked. “I - I realize I don’t know why you joined or what it was like.”

“I wanted to do something useful,” he shrugged as he said it. “Something more useful than stonework like I did with my da as a lad. And I knew the Templars in the city, my siblings and I were educated for several years in the Chantry, like most young lads and lasses.”

“Oh yeah you have - four siblings?” she asked, and her voice caught slightly as she posed the question. “Sorry, you don’t - if you don’t want to talk about them -”

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “It’s all right, I already hadn’t seen them in years,” he assured her. “Life was hectic for a while. The Circle in Starkhaven burned down, the Chantry in Kirkwall blew up, war broke out and my fellow Templars ran off to the hills barking at the moon.”

She giggled and pressed her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, none of that is funny, it’s just - I know _of_ that, but I still - thought it was just a story,” she said. “It’s odd to hear it spoken about like it actually happened.”

“So you knew that part of the story too?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and clasping his hands behind his back. He wanted to take her hand again, it had been so soft and warm in his, but he didn’t think it a good idea. Not yet.

“Yeah, although I didn’t know much about the Circle in Starkhaven burning down, just that it did,” she told him. She glanced up with a curious frown. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”

Rylen shrugged and thought for a moment. “Bit of magic gone wrong, from all we could tell,” he answered. “Most everyone got out, but - some weren’t so lucky. And then there were the ones who ran away, took the opportunity to flee. I still can’t tell if they thought we would be angry, blame them, or if they just saw their chance to escape.”

“What did you do with them?” Her voice was soft, the question sounding hesitant.

“A few of them came back willingly, when we assured them we weren’t angry or going to punish them,” he told her. “A few...resisted.”

He chanced a glance to the side and saw her chewing her bottom lip, her eyes wandering over the trees surrounding them.

“That’s actually how I got these scars,” he said suddenly, gesturing at the scars on his face. He remembered what Russell had said, that telling of his exploits might not be a bad idea. “A Knight-Enchanter - didn’t want to come back, got me with her Spirit Blade.”

“Ouch,” she said, grimacing as she looked up at him. “A Spirit Blade did that?”

They stopped and faced one another naturally so that she could examine the scars. Tentatively she reached up with a hand and traced the one along his jaw, and even more hesitantly moved her finger to the one over his eye.

“They were close to getting your eye, why weren’t you wearing your helmet?” she asked. “I thought Templars wore those big helmets that covered your face completely.”

“I’d taken it off while I tried to convince her to return home,” he shrugged. She was still lightly running her finger along his scars, staring up at him with what looked like tender concern. “She didn’t give me time to put it back on before she attacked. They’re just scars, I healed.”

“Still, though,” she said, and then she giggled. “I can’t believe - sorry, I just - still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you actually fought a Knight-Enchanter and got hit by a Spirit Blade.”

“Wasn’t the first or only time,” he told her. “Not as bad as some of the other magic, fireballs were always especially nasty, as was lightning - and nothing hurt worse than the chill in your bones from ice magic.”

Her eyes were wide as she peered up at him, and then she shook her head and looked away, resuming their stroll. “Jesus, this is all still so surreal,” she mused.

“You sound like Russell,” he teased. “He wants to meet you, by the way.”

Abigail giggled but made no comment, seemingly lost in thought as they continued on their way. She was still relaxed, happier and more carefree than he had seen her in a few days, since the movie. It gave him hope that she could seem so at ease when she was with him, and he made note of the fact that she smiled so readily in his company, seeming to forget her worries for a bit.

They passed a patch of flowers, red and purple wildflowers interspersed with beautiful white tulips. Rylen slowed when he saw them, a sudden idea coming upon him. He stooped and picked a single white tulip as he passed, and then he straightened and held it out to her.

“I - did you just pick that?” she asked, stopping and staring at the flower he was offering her.

“Of course,” he answered.

“For me?” She sounded surprised, but also almost pleased.

“Aye,” he smirked as he said it, holding the tulip out more insistently. “A beautiful lass like you deserves flowers to match her beauty.”

“I - um, thank you -” she stuttered out, but she took the tulip from him, letting her fingers close over his as she accepted it.

His fingers tingled from the contact, and again he thought of taking her hand in his when they continued their stroll. She was smiling, smelling the tulip with her eyes closed, and he realized his gesture had made her happy. Maybe she would hold his hand, or he could offer her his arm when they resumed walking -

“Abby!”

The shouted greeting made them both jump, and Abigail took a step back from Rylen, turning toward the tall figure jogging up to them.

“Fancy seeing you here,” her husband greeted when he reached them. He put his hands on his hips as he looked between the pair, and though there was a smile on his face Rylen could tell there was a hard look in his grey eyes when they met his. He was wearing a bright blue shirt and black short pants, just as some of the others running in the park were. “It’s a good day for it though, don’t you think? The weather is gorgeous.”

He emphasized the last word and Abigail shifted on her feet, fidgeting with the tulip, which Rylen noticed she lowered to her side. “John,” she said, and Rylen hated to hear how her voice wavered slightly.

John frowned and looked between them, an incredulous look on his face for a moment before he started to laugh. “What’s the matter? Am I interrupting a date?” he said it lightly, as if the idea was preposterous, but when his gaze met Rylen’s again there was a challenge in it.

Rylen opened his mouth to reply but Abigail shook her head beside him.

“Rylen’s new in town, hadn’t had a chance to make it to some of the sights yet,” she answered, her voice slightly firmer. “But it’s not like it’s any of your business, you don’t own the park, you don’t own Manhattan -”

Her voice was rising slightly and John held his hands up in front of himself. “Abby, gorg - _Abby_ , I was just making a joke,” he told her, and laughed again as if the idea of her out with the man beside her was still beyond his comprehension. “New in town, hm? Whereabouts are you from, _Rylen_?”

“Scotland,” Rylen answered, and he watched as John raised an eyebrow, waiting as if he expected more of an answer.

“Yes, I’d gathered that much. _Where_ in Scotland?” John asked, and he spoke more slowly, and slightly louder, this time.

Rylen chafed and folded his arms, catching on to the other man’s heavily insinuating tone. “Starkhaven,” Rylen answered. “It’s a small city, I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

John shrugged and laughed again, gesturing a hand as if he was at a loss. “You’re right, I haven’t,” he agreed. “It must not be near any of the big cities, otherwise maybe we would have passed by it on our trip. Do you remember seeing a Starkhaven when we were there, Abby?”

“It was in the Highlands,” Abigail said, almost too quickly. An awkward silence passed before she cleared her throat and scuffed one of her feet on the path as she did. “Well, we should let you get back to your run -”

“Actually, I’d been hoping to speak with you,” John interrupted and took a step closer. “But I haven’t been able to reach you on the phone.”

“I’ve been busy,” she gritted out, “with this novel concept called _work_.”

“Too busy to text me back?” he asked. “You’re working too hard.”

“What do you want?” Abigail snapped.

“Well, I,” but John glanced at Rylen and then gestured behind him. “May I speak with you privately, Abby?”

She hesitated, chewing her lip, and then gave a curt nod and followed him only a few steps away. Rylen’s teeth clenched as he watched the other man step closer to Abby, smiling. Pretending to look out over the park, Rylen strained his ears so that he could hear, focusing as he always had at the Circle during his patrols.

“I was hoping you’d go to lunch with me,” John said. “We should talk things over, the court case - surely you don’t want to drag it out.”

“Trying to buy me off?” Abby replied. “Or are you willing to admit to it and agree to the terms -”

“I want to work things out,” John interjected. “I miss you, I - I never wanted it to go like this -”

“Bull shit.”

“Come on, just one lunch, Abby,” John tried to insist. “Is one lunch with me too much to ask, to try to save our marriage?”

“There’s nothing to save -”

“Let’s try,” John’s voice lowered and Rylen turned his head back to look at them so he could keep track of the conversation. His jaw tightened when he saw how close John was standing to Abigail, and he was reaching with a hand to grip her shoulder. “Please, just one lunch.”

“I can’t today - I - I have work, sorry -” Abigail stuttered.

“Then another time, soon? Before the court date, let’s - let’s talk,” John proposed.

Rylen’s heart twisted when he saw her nod, her fingers twirling the tulip as she stared up at her husband.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” John said, and he cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. As he pulled away he raised his gaze to where Rylen stood behind her, and smirked over the top of her head.

“Abigail, we should get going,” Rylen said firmly, his voice coming out more like a bark than he intended. But his insides were twisting, anger he rarely felt coursing through him. “I’d hate for you to be late to work.”

At his words a sharp frown came upon John’s face and he lowered his gaze to Abigail standing before him. “He - he calls you Abigail?”

“I - yeah, he does,” she said, pulling her head away from where he was cupping her cheek. When she turned to look back at Rylen his heart ached to see the lost look on her face. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” John said, far too quickly. “I just haven’t heard you let anyone call you that in years.”

Abigail shrugged and opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if she was at a loss for words.

“Well, she lets me.” The words slipped from Rylen’s mouth before he could stop himself, and a smirk tugged up the corner of his mouth when he saw the other man’s scowl. “Come along, Abigail, you promised we’d grab some pete-zah before you had to go to work.”

To his surprise, Abigail glared at him for a moment before she sighed and stepped away from her husband. “He’s right, I need to go,” she gritted out.

“I’ll call you about lunch, Ab-Abby,” John said, but he was still frowning as he looked between the pair in front of him.

“Yeah, great,” Abigail agreed, but her tone was harsh, her eyes narrowed. She walked quickly away from John, back the way she and Rylen had come from.

Rylen met the other man’s gaze again, noticing that it had lost any of its warmth as they glared at one another. John returned his hands to his hips, staring for one more moment before he gave a jerk of his head. “Nice seeing you again, Rylen. Enjoy your stay in Brooklyn.”

“Oh trust me, I am,” he replied smoothly, and he unfolded his arms and turned, taking long strides to catch up with Abigail.

When he fell into step beside her he glanced down, but the look on her face tore through him. “Lass, are you -”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she gritted out, her voice low and dangerous.

“I just wanted to -”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t.”

After a few moments walking in awkward silence, she suddenly glared up at him.

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded. “‘You promised me pizza’ - fucking Christ, Rylen, that - I don’t need - you don’t need to try to _save_ me -”

“I wasn’t trying to save you, lass,” he protested, gesturing behind them angrily. “I was trying to give you an excuse to leave, you looked upset -”

“It was like a pissing contest, what the fuck do you - I just - don’t get involved,” she scolded him. “You don’t need to try to play the hero. The situation is fucked enough without you trying to save the day.”

“I - Abigail, I -”

“Stop it,” she cried, her voice cracking slightly. “Just - come on, let’s go back to Brooklyn.”

The trip back was silent, awkward, and where before she had laughed and held onto him now she glared and sniffled occasionally, as if resisting crying like after the last time she had seen her husband. Rylen’s insides twisted, wishing he _could_ do something to help her, that he could make the situation better.

Instead he was fairly certain he had made it worse. Things had been going so well, too, and her response to the tulip - she had blushed, had looked so happy, surprised but actually touched that he had picked it for her. With a jolt he realized her husband must have seen the exchange, and he worried that his actions had goaded the other man into trying to stake his claim.

He certainly hadn’t intended to make matters more difficult for her, and as he followed her up the stairs to their home he tried to think of the words to apologize.

But they didn’t come to him, and when he watched her hurrying around the apartment, setting things down with too much force and slamming the bathroom door he decided that maybe he should wait until later.

She slung her purse over her shoulder not long after they had returned, and made her way to the door without a word.

“Are you - are you going to work already?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah, I’ll - I’m - bye,” she struggled over the words and then unceremoniously yanked the door open and slammed it behind her.

Rylen groaned and stretched out on the sofa, glaring at the high ceiling above him. The day wasn’t supposed to go like this, and he laid for longer than he knew trying to think of a way to fix any of it. When she came home - no, it would be late, she’d likely be tired. In the morning, after she’d slept on it, he’d make her breakfast.

Then they could talk.

The hours passed slowly, but he had manuals that Russell had gotten for him to study, and he spent his time on the sofa reading through them. He made notes using the strange ‘pen’ Russell had given him, marking things he needed to ask about, the few things that didn’t make sense. But otherwise, the reading was fascinating, learning more about his job, about the tools, the way things worked.

When the sun began to set he moved out to the fire escape, sitting where she normally did to smoke. He lounged and read the manuals by the fading light, enjoying the way the sun looked setting over the city. He put his reading aside to watch it, letting his mind wander.

Things had always been straightforward for him, and he preferred them that way. But this, the lass’ situation, it was complicated, and messy, and he hadn’t been able to wrap his mind around just how much until the events at the park. The dislike he held for her husband had only grown, but it was clear the lass was still struggling, whether with lingering feelings or stress, or perhaps both, he couldn’t tell.

Whatever it was, she needed time.

Rylen knew what he wanted, and though it had taken him a bit by surprise he was certain of it. He was a patient man, though, and it was more important that the lass get through this situation than it was for him to try to woo her.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t support her, and keep her from being alone as she struggled. He hadn’t seen her with any other friends, had seen no proof that she had anyone else to help her. He didn’t want to be her crutch, but he could be a friend.

When the sun went down he moved back into the apartment, making himself dinner before he sat at the bar to continue reading as he ate. The money he had made had helped them get two stools, and he smiled a little as he thought about it. That was another thing he could do, and he looked around, trying to think what else they could use for the home.

Instead his gaze fell on the tulip lying on the bar, and he sighed as he stared at it for a moment. He pushed himself off the stool after considering, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water to place the tulip in. He set it in the middle of the bar, hoping she would see it.

The fact that she had still brought it home with her made him think that perhaps he hadn’t bungled things too badly.

Either way, he still owed her an apology.

It was late when the lock on the portal turned, and when it swung open Abigail stumbled in, gripping the edge of the door to catch herself.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered. “Fucking - uneven floor.”

Rylen sat up from where he had been dozing on the sofa, setting aside his reading as he watched her walk unsteadily to the bar cart. She threw her purse onto it, followed by her keys, and then she pulled her phone and box of smokes out of it.

When she turned it seemed to take her a moment to notice that he was sitting up and staring at her, and she rolled her eyes as she grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” she sighed.

“It's fine, lass,” he assured her, rubbing his face as he watched her.

She walked across the apartment to the window and clambered out of it, her actions clumsier and more rushed than normal. He let her sit outside for a few moments alone until he heard music playing.

_“I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt. I've been searching for a trail to follow, take me back to the night we met.”_

Rylen sighed and rubbed his eyes before he pushed himself off the sofa to follow her out the window as well.

_“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you -”_

“Lass are you all right?” he asked finally, interrupting her singing.

She turned a bleary eye at him over the smoke curling from her mouth, and then shook her head as she let out a laugh. “I cried at work. Just fucking broke down in the keg room, all because - I just -”

Her voice cracked again and she took a drag off her smoke.

“I'm sorry, Abigail, I didn't mean to -”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” she interrupted. “You didn't do anything wrong, I - I shouldn't have snapped at you.”

“No, you’re right, I - I didn’t help matters,” he insisted. “I’m sorry for that.”

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head and rested her forehead against the heel of her hand. “I’m weak,” she muttered. “I see him and just - boom, I’m a mess, a disaster, a fuck up. I hate it, I wish - I wish I -”

But her voice cracked again and she trailed off. Rylen folded his arms, resisting the urge to go over and take her in his arms to comfort her.

Instead he sighed and reminded himself of his new resolve, burying the jealousy and pain he felt. “It’s understandable, lass,” he assured her. “You felt strongly for him, of course you’re going to be upset right now.”

“He cheated on me,” she blurted out, and she rubbed her forehead where it was resting before she lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a deep draw from it. “And I know it - knew it - have known, for a year. He had a mistress, and I asked him to just work things out -”

“He had a mistress?” he raised an eyebrow as he absorbed the information, trying to reconcile it with the way her husband kept acting when he had seen him.

“Yep,” Abigail said, and then she let out a sad laugh. “I should have known it would end up that way, considering how it - how things started. All I want is for the fucker to admit it. I want it down on paper, I want all of the records to say - ‘due to infidelity’ - ‘adultery was the cause.’ I won’t slink away quietly like Connie did, half a mil in my pocket but my pride and dignity torn to shreds.”

Rylen frowned as he listened, wanting to ask questions but also not wanting to interrupt. She needed to let this out, and he wanted to hear it, wanted to try to understand as much as he could.

“He’s the one who deserves that,” Abigail continued as she flicked her finished smoke away from her. “The bastard’s reputation means too much to him - if I could just make them see, find some proof - oh well. It’s fucking pointless, now. We’ll go to lunch and he’ll sweet talk me and I’ll give in, just like I always do. Fuck.”

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking slightly. Rylen finally stepped forward and rested his hand on her shoulder, but he realized his mistake when she jerked away from him.

“Stop being so fucking nice all the time,” she snapped at him, her glare tugging at his heartstrings because of the tears running down her cheeks. “You’re so fucking sweet, all the time - I just want to be angry, and alone. It’s what I deserve, I was a fucking idiot, I’m finally getting what I deserve. Leave me alone so I can - just let karma do its work.”

“No, lass, you just need some sleep,” he told her gently. “Come on, let’s get you lying down, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

He gripped her elbows and lifted her to her feet, and though she grumbled she let him help her through the window. Once through she stumbled to the sofa and sank onto it, wiping at her cheeks.

“I’m still pissed that you’re being so nice,” she told him, her words slightly slurred.

“Aye, that’s all right,” he assured her as he knelt beside her. He gently slid her shoes off her feet and then lifted her legs onto the sofa. She let him get her situated, lying on her side, and he tucked blankets around her. “I’ll leave water next to you, lass. And wake me up if you need anything, even if you just want someone to be angry at.”

“Jesus fuck,” she muttered, dragging her ring-bedecked fingers across her brow. “How are you this sweet?”

“You’re just not used to it,” he answered softly. “Can I get you anything else, lass?”

She was silent for a moment and then snuggled further into the blankets. “No.”

“G’night, Abigail,” he said, and he patted her on the shoulder before he stood to get her a glass of water.

“Ry?” Her voice was soft, tender, and the nickname made his heart race.

“Aye?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Another moment of silence passed, and he began to wonder if she had fallen asleep.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

It was a simple thing, but he smiled brightly, letting a small sliver of hope take root inside of him. “Of course, Abigail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby's angsty music was ["The Night We Met" by Lord Huron.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU)


	9. Happenstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters keep getting away from me, but I'm having too much fun really fleshing everything out.
> 
> Connie's [Face Claim](https://photos.vanityfair.com/2015/03/10/54fefcd0ebd1a8c7648a0f91_ss03-robin-wright-fashion.jpg)  
> Jenna's [Face Claim](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/2b/7b/27/2b7b278a209eff290446fe55b4567160--blonde-layers-blonde-roots.jpg)
> 
> (oooo dun dun dun!)

Somehow Monday was always the hardest day to get ready for. Stuck between her two days off, and already a shitty day because it was so slow, nothing about it was ever good. Just the start of the week, and boring beyond belief.

Rylen left before she fully awoke to hurry off to his work site, and she felt an odd ache in her chest at the way he left without a word. The day before she had been hungover, only wanting to curl up on the sofa to drink Gatorade and read things on her phone. They had hardly spoken as she cuddled under blankets and avoided his gaze for hours, not wanting to say anything about how she'd cried in front of him - again. He had been reading something, like a manual or textbook, but she hadn’t bothered to ask what it was.

God, what an asshole she was. He didn’t deserve any of this.

She shouldn’t have had so much to drink the night before, she shouldn’t have been so shaken by what had happened in Central Park. But John, there before her, begging her for lunch and kissing her on the forehead -

She was weak and detestable for even _considering_ giving in.

Her phone had buzzed a few times with texts from John since then, but she had ignored them, just as before. Secretly she hoped she could avoid lunch with him altogether, put him off until it was too late. She didn’t want to meet him alone, didn’t want to face him. He’d sweet talk her, charm her, pull out all the stops and convince her, just as he always did. Just as he always had.

She wasn’t certain she was strong enough to face that.

For a while she lay, groggy and lackluster on the sofa, hating everything in existence, but most of all herself.

When it got closer to time to leave for her afternoon shift she grumbled and pushed herself off the sofa, so that she could stand listlessly under the shower as she tried to gather her senses. It had been ages since she’d been like this, really. She was normally able to pull her shit together when she woke up.

But fuck - John and his insistences, the way Rylen’s face had fallen when he saw her with the other man - it all cut her to the core and she wasn’t certain how to handle any of it.

Except with drink like always, like the coward she was.

All of her coping mechanisms, all of her adult life - fuck, they were all tangled up in John, all tangled up in what he wanted and expected of her.

Had she ever really been her own person?

With even more grumbling she turned off the shower and stepped out of it, drying herself with her towel as she ignored the guilt and embarrassment coursing through her. Her heart thumped against her ribs even though nothing was happening - nothing major, just her recollections of the night after Central Park, the way she’d vented to him, the way she’d cried about the position she was stuck in.

_“He’s the one who deserves that,” she’d said._

But didn’t _she_ , really?

She made her way through getting ready for work as if moving through sludge, trying to style her hair, trying to fix her makeup but taking longer than normal. She needed to make money to pay her lawyer, needed to begin to set aside more than the retainer. That had been covered by the meager amount she had been left by her mother all those years ago and the miniscule interest it had gathered since. The only money she'd been able to access after John surprised her with the filing.

Even with Rylen’s help on the bills she doubted whether or not she’d be able to afford everything with her lawyer. She’d be paying that for months, years, likely, especially since she didn’t really expect a settlement.

Just a confession, that was all she wanted, after all this time.

Her feet moved with dread as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door, feeling more reluctant than normal to begin her day. She wished she could shake this, that she could simply forget the events of two days before, but her mind seemed intent to fixate. Things had been going so well, she’d actually felt - happy.

Now she wondered if she could ever get that feeling back, if she’d ever feel happy or carefree again. The slight glimmer of happiness she’d felt on the subway with Rylen, the contentment as they’d walked together through the park and he’d picked a tulip - they were like moments from someone else’s life. They didn’t belong to hers, that sort of joy had no place in her life. Not anymore, or maybe it never had. After all, before John her life had been struggle, hardship, grief - and even with him there had been too many moments of the same.

Coffee, maybe - a small treat, to pull herself out of this fucking slump.

Hurrying down the stairs of her building and out the door, she turned right like always and headed to the local coffee shop she always passed but never let herself visit. She opened the door and walked in, taking in the modern, hipster décor as she joined the queue. Once in line she looked over the menu, trying to decide, and noticed very little happening around her, lost in her own little world.

“Abby?”

She startled at the voice and turned, and for a moment simply stared at the tall and gracefully dressed figure behind her.

“I thought that was you, how - how are you?”

“C-Connie, I - what are you doing here?” Abby stuttered out, too flustered to respond to the other woman's question properly.

“I have some meetings today in Brooklyn, figured I'd stop and support a local coffee shop,” Connie replied smoothly.

“Right, sorry, I just - I'm surprised to see you, is all,” Abby said quickly, trying to make up for her rude response. “I'm - fine. Doing fine. How have you been?”

Connie’s pale blue eyes wandered over Abby's face for a moment and then she smiled. “I've been well, just busy with work as always,” she answered. She opened her mouth to say something else but the line moved forward and the barista asked for Abby's order.

“Large cappuccino, please,” Abby ordered before she dug in her purse for her wallet.

“It’s on me, and a small cappuccino and one of those black and white cookies, please,” Connie interjected, stepping forward and passing over her credit card.

“Connie, please, you don’t have to buy my coffee,” Abby grumbled, still trying to dig her cash out of her wallet.

“It’s no trouble,” Connie simply shrugged.

“I -” Abby began as she stared at the other woman, wanting to protest again, wanting to insist. But she was already in such a lousy mood she simply threw her wallet back in her purse and folded her arms. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Connie answered, and she finished paying so they could step aside to wait for their cappuccinos.

“I - I’ve actually been hoping to speak with you but I realized I didn’t have your number,” Connie told her. She brushed her perfect blonde pixie aside with a finger as she said it, and then turned a slight frown to Abby. “How have you been, really?”

Abby sighed and shook her head. “Heard about the divorce, then?”

“Yes, John and I still run in the same circles, if you recall,” Connie answered simply.

“And of course I’m sure everyone’s talking about the stubborn wife who won’t just go away quietly when asked,” Abby groused, shifting on her feet.

“It’s been mentioned,” Connie confirmed. “People in those circles don’t seem to understand someone who can’t be bought.”

“Well, when money is your morality and your ticket to everything in life, I’m not surprised I’m an oddity,” Abby grumbled. “Is that why you wanted to speak with me? To tell me to just accept the money and let him have his way?”

“No, actually,” Connie shook her head and offered a reassuring smile. “The opposite. I - admire what you’re doing. At the time, I didn’t want to go through the hassle, I just wanted to move on and continue with my life as if everything was fine. A bit of me wishes I had put up a bit more of a fight, but after twenty years I was just - ready for it to be over.”

Abby stared at the other woman for a moment, pressing her lips together as she absorbed the words. “I - Connie, I never really got the chance to apologize for everything,” she said quietly. “I know it was wrong, I know I never should have -”

“I don’t blame you, Abby,” Connie interrupted. “John knew exactly what he was doing, and he made the choice to do it. Besides, it was over eight years ago. My life has moved on, I’m not one to hold grudges or live in the past.”

“I - right,” Abby nodded and glanced down, noticing a simple solitaire diamond on the other woman’s ring finger. A slight smile tugged at her lips when she raised her gaze to Connie’s once more. “Is that why you wanted to speak with me?”

“I wanted to be certain you were all right,” Connie answered. “I know that you likely didn’t have any assets outside of John, and I was hoping he hadn’t left you out in the cold.”

“I - um, it hasn’t been great,” Abby confessed. “But I’m managing.”

“He filed, didn’t he,” Connie speculated, and she hummed slightly when Abby nodded her acknowledgement. “And Henry is representing him?”

“Henry Anderson? Yeah,” Abby answered. “Same guy, right?”

“Yes,” Connie said. “Have you - you found representation outside of Henry, correct? Ours wasn’t contested, we both let Henry handle the settlement, but -”

“I managed to find someone, yeah,” Abby sighed. “Best I could afford, but so far...I haven’t had great luck. The court keeps denying my requests. That’s what I get for trying to go up against two senior partners, I guess. I - don’t have high hopes, but I’ll be damned if I let that fucker just _win_.”

Connie smirked and nodded, but their drinks were finally announced and they stepped forward to take them. “Do you mind me asking, how much are you trying to ask for?”

“I’m - I’m not,” Abby answered as she slid the cardboard sleeve on her to-go cup.

“You mean - nothing?” Connie raised her eyebrows, and Abby noticed she looked genuinely surprised.

“Well, I asked for temporary alimony, since I’m essentially penniless without access to the accounts. But beyond that, just a few joint belongings and lawyer’s fees,” Abby told her with a shrug.

“I - I didn’t know,” Connie said slowly. She considered Abby critically for a moment, her brows furrowed as she thought. “You really did love him, then, didn’t you?”

Abby swallowed hard, her heart aching as she nodded.

“I suppose a part of me always assumed you were at least partially after his money,” Connie admitted. “I wouldn’t blame you trying to get a larger settlement or alimony now, but…” She trailed off without finishing her thought, and Abby heaved a sigh.

“No, I didn’t care,” she said. “Young, foolish me actually loved the bastard. He gave me gifts, paid for things, but I - I never expected any of that. I just wanted him.”

Connie nodded and seemed unable to speak for a moment, but then she returned her gaze to Abby’s and smiled sadly. “I truly am sorry,” she told her. “But if I were you, I’d approach the case a little differently. It’s all well and good to try to get him to admit to infidelity, but perhaps the court would take you more seriously if you made more demands. I - I have a friend, let me see if I can call in a favor -”

“Connie, please, I - I don’t need charity,” Abby interrupted, turning to lead the way out of the coffee shop. Connie fell into step beside her, and Abby looked away from the other woman as she thought. “I can handle this, I - I got myself into this mess, I need to get myself out of it.”

“While I admire your resolve,” Connie mused, “I’d like for you to consider. One of my friends from Harvard does pro bono work occasionally, and would likely be interested in your case.”

“Why would they be interested in my case?” Abby asked as they exited the coffee shop and stopped on the sidewalk.

Connie gestured silently to ask which way Abby was walking, and Abby pointed in the direction of the bar. Connie nodded and turned to lead the way, Abby taking quick steps to keep up with her. After a moment Connie glanced at her with a gleam in her eye. “Just because I don’t hold grudges doesn’t mean no one else does,” she explained. “Let’s just say a few of our mutual friends were always more than a little upset with how I just let John get away with it.”

Abby stopped dead in her tracks, her brows furrowed as she watched Connie turn to face her once more. “You really think those friends would help the woman he left you for?” She let out a hollow laugh and shook her head. “You’ve got to be pulling my leg. What, time to exact your revenge or something? Thanks for the coffee, but -”

“Abby, I’m being serious,” Connie assured her, a piercing look in her blue eyes, her tone firm. “This friend would like nothing more than to nail him to the wall, for personal and professional reasons. Let me set up a meeting. What harm could it do to simply speak with her?”

Abby chewed her lip as she considered, suspecting it to be a trap but not entirely certain how. Connie was staring at her pointedly, nothing but genuine intent evident in her gaze. “Professional reasons?” Abby asked to delay her decision.

“He’s beaten her in a few cases, and she takes issue with his methods,” Connie answered. “John’s, ah, _charms_ aren’t exclusive to his personal life, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“You really want to help me get a better lawyer?” Abby repeated incredulously. “For nothing in exchange, just out of the goodness of your heart? You really expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not sure what John ever told you about me, but I’m not some cold, heartless bitch,” Connie assured her with a soft smile. “You were young and naїve, and he took full advantage of that. And now he’s trying to use his wealth and power to manipulate you into letting him have his way. It isn’t right, no matter the history between you and I.”

Abby shook her head and took a sip of her coffee while she thought, trying to make her mind wrap around the offer. What was the worst that could happen, accepting a meeting with a better lawyer? “Sure, why not,” she finally agreed. “If you really mean it…”

“I do, Abby,” Connie said. “I promise, this isn’t some ploy or attempt to exact revenge. I have better things to do with my time than antagonize someone over something that happened eight years ago.”

They fell silent, and Abby took another sip of her coffee, trying to think of something to say. Finally Connie smiled and reached into her purse.

“Besides, in the end I almost feel like I should thank you,” she said as she pulled out a small silver case and opened it. Taking out a business card from within she passed it over to Abby. “I’m much happier now, and I’m certain things will work out for you eventually as well. Once you’re through this and free of him. You’ll see.”

Abby accepted the card and glanced down at it as she absorbed the other woman’s words. “We’ll see. I’m not sure I deserve happiness, or - or this,” she gestured the card at Connie. Her gaze wandered over the hand that held her cappuccino, and again she noticed the simple diamond ring on her thin finger. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Connie smiled, a softer look coming across her face. “A professor,” she answered. “Teaches Art History at NYU. We met at a donor event. He’s widowed, and we’re - well, we’re getting married in the fall in Vermont.”

Abby put the card in her purse and held out her free hand. “Congratulations, Connie,” she offered a smile after she said it. “I’m happy for you.”

Connie took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Thank you,” she said. “Give me a call and we’ll set up lunch so you can meet my friend. The sooner the better, I’m assuming you have a settlement meeting or arbitration coming up?”

“Yes,” Abby answered. “I’ll - I’ll call you tomorrow, see what I can do with my schedule at work. Oh, speaking of,” she glanced at her watch and grimaced. “I need to get going.”

“Right, of course,” Connie nodded. “I should as well. I’m glad I ran into you, though. Talk to you tomorrow, Abby.”

“Yeah, talk to you then,” Abby agreed, and she gave one last smile before she waved farewell and continued her walk to the bar.

Her mind was racing, and she was happy there weren’t any customers when she arrived for shift change. Before she had been dreading work being slow, dreading being left alone with her thoughts. Now, she was glad to have some peace and quiet so that she could think, could come to terms with what had just happened.

Connie, smiling and happy, forgiving her and assuring her it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t quite sure she fully believed those words; after all, she had known John was married and made the choice anyway. But what Connie had said, about how he took advantage of her youth - something about those words tugged at her. Thinking back on how they met, how they had begun, she realized how hard he had worked to pursue her, all while she struggled with her mother’s illness and her studies, working more than she had time for to pay all the bills.

She had never thought of it that way before, had never fully thought through everything she had been dealing with when she met him. The whirlwind romance had swept her up in him completely, had left her defenseless against his pursuit as he worked tirelessly to woo her. And he could be so intense, so charming, and after only dealing with immature boys she’d thought she’d finally found the real thing, real passion and true love.

Never before had she wondered if she’d been wronged as well - she’d only ever decided that her complicity in his infidelity had been her choice, her mistake and wrongdoing as well as his. Then again, she hadn’t been the one with vows to break, and he had always made the first move.

Something changed in her, almost as if a weight was being lifted from her chest, no longer full of quite so much self-loathing as she had been earlier that day. Her mood improved, ever so slightly, until she wasn’t dragging her feet or frowning quite so much.

After two hours of hardly any customers, the door opened and two voices greeted her ears, one familiarly accented. She looked up, eyebrows raised, and watched as Rylen walked in, a shorter, curly red-haired young man right on his heels.

“This is a cool place, have you been before?” the young man was asking Rylen.

“Sort of, lad,” Rylen answered, and when he caught Abby’s eye he smiled. “Just when the lass led me through when I first arrived.”

“Oh man - is that -” the other man began, but he stopped and for a moment simply stared at Abby.

“Lass,” Rylen greeted her as he took a seat at the bar. “Thought we’d come see you for some - what did you call it, lad? Happy hours?”

“Happy hour,” the young man corrected breathlessly, and he sat beside Rylen. He stared wide-eyed at Abby the whole time he spoke, looking stunned.

“I - hi,” Abby greeted the pair, frowning slightly as she looked between them. Her heart was racing, her feelings from that morning coming back to her as she recalled the way he had left without a word. Yet here he was, visiting her at work and smiling brightly, the tattoos on his chin tugged upwards, aqua eyes sparkling as he held her gaze.

“Oh my god - you’re Abigail!” the young man said, and he was almost bouncing in his seat before he looked between she and Rylen. “Right? She’s - your lass, right?”

“Eh, lad -” Rylen began, waving a hand as if to shush the man. He gave Abby a furtive glance, and if she wasn’t wrong he almost looked embarrassed.

“Oh! Sorry, right, not - I’m just so excited, he talks about you all the time,” the young man told Abby, smiling and still staring at her eagerly.

“Maker’s balls,” Rylen grumbled, putting his head in a hand as he said it. “Would you just introduce yourself, lad? After all you asked to meet her.”

“I’m Russell - you can call me Russ, everyone else does,” the young man told her, reaching out with a hand too quickly and knocking over a stack of coasters. “Shit - sorry.”

Abby simply blinked for a moment before she smirked and took the offered hand. “Abby,” she told him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

At her words Russ’ face lit up even more and he looked at Rylen as if he couldn’t believe it. “He wanted to come see you, I told him after work drinks were a thing here too, like in,” he lowered his voice and looked around even though not a soul was in sight, “Thedas.”

Rylen rubbed his forehead with the hand it rested in before he finally looked up at Abby. He gave a slightly apologetic smile, but she simply winked and looked back at Russ.

“So what’ll you have?” she asked them.

“Whiskey if you would, lass,” Rylen told her, his eyes wandering over the bottles on the shelves behind her.

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile. “How about you, Russ?”

“Oh man, I - what beers do you have on tap? Do you have like a - a lager or an IPA or,” he trailed off as he looked over the taps, but then he shook his head and glanced at Rylen. “Um, actually yeah - whiskey for me, too.”

Abby nodded and grabbed two rocks glasses before she picked out a mid-range whiskey for them. They hadn’t specified, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to give Rylen the cheap well whiskey. Instead she poured one that she liked, one that she drank, and secretly found herself hoping that he’d like it.

She frowned at the thought and shook her head, trying to focus simply on pouring their drinks. When she set the glasses in front of them, Rylen gave her a crooked smirk as he picked it up, lifting it as if toasting her.

“Aye, cheers, lass,” he murmured before he took a sip.

“Yeah, cheers,” Russ agreed, taking a big gulp and then spluttering slightly, trying to disguise it behind a cough. When he’d managed to stop he took a smaller sip and looked back up at Abby. “So you found him? I’ve been wanting to ask you, been wanting to - wow, and you play Dragon Age? I just - oh man so many questions -”

“Slow down, Russ,” Rylen chided him. “One thing at a time.”

“Right,” Russ nodded and took another sip as if steadying himself. “So - you knew who he was?”

Abby shrugged and leaned on the bar. “I thought he was a cosplayer, to be honest,” she answered. She glanced at Rylen, remembering the way she’d thought he was on drugs, or drunk, the way she’d begged him to drop the act. It was still odd, staring at him across the bar, flesh and blood - and winking at her. She cleared her throat and looked back at Russ, trying to fight the fluttering feeling in her stomach.

“Do you still have your armor?” Russ asked. “I’d love to see it, I tried to get some made to go as Alistair to a con, but -”

“Alistair? As in - the King of Ferelden?” Rylen interrupted with a frown.

“So he is king? Is he married to Cousland?” Russ leaned forward eagerly.

“Aye, Brigid Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden,” Rylen answered. When he saw the way Russ was staring at him, mouth agape, he simply chuckled and took another sip of whiskey.

“Wow,” Russ muttered. After a moment he looked back across the bar. “So Abby, how - how did someone like - um,” he gestured vaguely in her direction, “take up playing Dragon Age?”

Abby quirked an eyebrow but laughed, shaking her head slightly in response to his unspoken implication. “A friend introduced me in college,” she told him. “I was going through a lot, and they suggested a distraction. After that I just - kept playing.”

“Cool,” Russ nodded his head eagerly. “Did you just play or did you like - do any cons or fic? I mean you know enough that you recognized him, and he’s - I mean he was only in for a few minutes, really.”

“What’s that now?” Rylen lowered his glass and looked between Russ and Abby, frowning.

For some reason Abby felt her cheeks heat and she delayed answering, deciding explaining was easier. “Oh, um - we haven’t really talked about it, Rylen,” she said. “The game followed the Inquisition, it -”

“The Inquisition formed, then?” he interrupted.

“I - fuck. Wow, we’d have to like, explain it _all_ ,” Abby glanced at Russ.

“You could come over to my place and just play it,” Russ suggested to Rylen. “I have it on my PS4 and Xbox, and I have a seventy-inch TV -”

He trailed off when he saw how Rylen was staring at him, flabbergasted, and Abby burst out laughing.

“You’ll need to explain all of that, too, I’m assuming,” she told Russ.

“I just - what do you mean I was ‘hardly in it?’ What does that mean? What - what happened to me?” Rylen asked with a frown, still focusing on the one thing he could grasp in what Russ had said.

“Oh you’re there the whole time,” Russ assured him. “Just in the background, or like - offscreen. You only see you at Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach, the player can talk to you and find out more about you since you’re Cullen’s second-in-command. But like - it’s only a few minutes of dialogue, that’s all. And you’re never without the helmet.”

Rylen stared at him for a moment before he turned a bemused look to Abby, who suddenly found herself engrossed in restacking the coasters Russ had knocked over. “Lass, is that true?” he asked.

“I - um - I mean, yeah,” she muttered.

“But you - you recognized me so easily, you knew my name,” Rylen mused slowly.

“Ummmm I mean,” Abby fidgeted with the stack even though it was already perfectly straight, “I guess the - tattoos are distinct.”

“Oh my god you were a Rylen fan weren’t you?” Russ asked, and then he began to laugh, patting Rylen on the back as he did.

“I - I wrote something - it’s silly,” Abby grumbled.

“Wait you wrote fic?” Russ sat up straight and stopped laughing. “Were you like - what did you write? Did you post it? What was your username?”

“Jameson-made-me-do-it,” Abby confessed quietly, not looking at Russ as she said it. She could feel her cheeks heating, could feel Rylen’s gaze fixed on her.

“Wait you’re - no way - no freaking way!” Russ exclaimed, bouncing in his seat once more. “Holy shit you wrote - one of the best modern AUs I’ve read - you’re amazing!”

“I - it was all right, okay?” Abby said, almost flinching in response to his enthusiasm.

“Wait what - you wrote something - you’ll have to explain, lass,” Rylen asked.

Abby heaved a sigh and arched her neck, resigning herself to it. “It’s - a thing people do, they write stories based on things like games and movies,” she told him, trying to think of a way to make it easy for him to understand. “I hit writer’s block that couldn’t be cured with Central Park and I - got an idea for a fic, so I - I wrote it. And um...it did all right, I guess.”

“Did all right?” Russ scoffed, shaking his head as he stared at Abby as if offended. “She’s lying to you, it was amazing. She twisted World War Two with the Mage-Templar War, and you and Cullen were two soldiers on the front lines struggling to make it, trying to get back to the sweethearts they left behind. Oh man, and the reunion smut I mean - Cullen takes his fiancée and -”

“Wait wait wait,” Rylen held up a hand to interrupt the description. “He’s my mate, I don’t want to hear about - about that. I - you wrote - smutty literature, lass? Is that the stories you said you wrote? Was there - was there smut of me?”

“I have to go - change a ke - need a cigarette,” Abby stuttered out, and she turned and hurried behind the bar toward the back door, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighter as she ran past her purse.

Once outside she pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it, leaning back against the wall. She took a deep drag, and then another, and then one more, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple with her fingers.

_Am I stuck in the Twilight Zone today or something?_

“Fucking Christ,” she muttered to herself, groaning as she thought about the conversation she’d just had, the surreality gripping her.

Had that really just happened? And meeting Connie, and now Rylen knew about -

She tried to shut down the thoughts and took another drag of her cigarette. That had been something she hadn't wanted to tell him, possibly ever, something she'd been trying to avoid thinking about since she met him. Maybe it had been naïve of her to think it wouldn't ever come up.

_“Oh good you're home!” she hopped off the sofa and ran to greet John, throwing her arms around his neck. “How was your day?”_

_“Long,” he answered, wrapping one arm around her as she kissed him on the cheek. “What's got you in such a good mood?”_

_“I published that story! And I - I actually had a few readers,” she told him, smiling up into his face._

_“Really?” he asked, furrowing his brows._

_“Yeah, I - I just thought maybe I should try,” she shrugged._

_“I'm glad,” he said finally. “You'll have to tell me about it.”_

_“Or I could show you,” she teased, running her fingers through his hair. “Upstairs...in bed…”_

_She accented her suggestion with brushing her lips against his, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth._

_“I like the sound of that, Kitten,” he murmured, finally setting down his briefcase so that he could put both arms around her, holding her tight._

_She giggled, eagerness flooding her at the gleam in his grey eyes._

“You okay Abby?”

She jumped and looked to the side, pulled out of her memories. Danny was standing by the door back into the bar, frowning at her.

“Yeah, sorry Danny,” Abby answered and flicked her cigarette away from her. “Weird day. Hey did you happen to get what I asked?”

“Yeah,” he dug in his backpack and pulled out a tattered, hardcover textbook. “They didn’t have it new, I had to find it in the used bin, sorry.”

“Used is perfect,” she took the book from him and inspected it before she looked back up at him. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it’s - it’s fine, it was cheap,” he shook his head. “I um - I was wondering if I could get off early tonight? I - I have a date, if I can. Well it’s just a study session, but I really like her -”

Abby smiled, taking in the eager look in the barback’s eyes. “Sure, why not,” she told him. “It’s been dead anyway.”

“Yeah you just have those two guys, right? Friends of yours?” Danny asked as Abby gestured for him to lead the way back into the bar.

“Um - roommate, sort of,” Abby answered.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten a roommate,” he said. “Oh wait is that the guy Michelle got you meds for?”

“Yeah,” Abby muttered. “But let’s not - talk about that. Ever.”

Her cheeks were heating again, remembering the way Rylen had flirted with her while she tried to save his life. And then again, on the subway two days before, and at the park - and that moment during the movie, when she’d suddenly wanted to kiss him.

_It’s just been a while, that’s all._

But as she circled back behind the bar and caught sight of him smiling when he saw her, her heart began racing and she wondered if that was really all it was.

Clearing her throat and trying to focus on anything else to steady herself, she stopped and set the textbook down in front of Rylen. “I got you something,” she said, letting a smile tug up the corners of her mouth at the surprise evident in his gaze.

“‘A - A Brief History of the Modern World,’” he read, and then glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. “Is this about Earth?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed and nodded. “Figured it might help you learn a bit more about your new home, help you adjust.”

“I - thank you, lass,” he said, turning the book over in his hand and reading the cover. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh that’s a really good idea,” Russ chimed in. “I keep trying to tell him some social stuff, like about dating and -”

There was a shift in how Rylen was sitting and suddenly Russ flinched and fell silent. He coughed slightly and drained the rest of his whiskey before he looked back up at Abby.

“Can I have another, please?” he asked.

“Sure,” she agreed slowly, turning to grab the bottle. “So you two talk about dating?”

A scowl crossed Rylen’s face and he seemed suddenly very interested in the first page of the textbook open in front of him, even though it was the table of contents.

“Well I mean - that was just a - a for instance, you know, cultural differences,” Russ stuttered. “I - I was asking his advice. I like someone, I just sort of - asked him what he would do. In - in Thedas. It was silly.”

Abby frowned a little as she poured him another whiskey. “Uh-huh,” she said. “So tell me about your crush, Russ.”

“I - well, she’s - she’s really great,” he answered with a shrug, staring at the whiskey in front of him. “We - we met at Comic-Con, actually. She was cosplaying as Josephine, she’s - she’s really - great. Just great.”

“So she’s great?” Abby asked, trying to fight the laughter in her throat.

“I - I mean she’s perfect,” Russ muttered. “But we - we’ve talked, and gamed together online but like - I don’t know how to - tell her I like her, or ask her out.”

Abby shrugged and leaned on the bar. “You just do,” she suggested. “Life is short, man, you gotta just take those chances. Worst case she says no. But you’ll never know unless you ask.”

“She’s right, lad,” Rylen agreed, glancing up from the textbook he was flipping through, an odd look in his eye as he met Abby’s gaze. “If I were you, I’d just ask, there’s nothing stopping you.” There was a clear emphasis in the way he said the last bit, and it made Abby frown.

“Easy for you to say,” Russ said, taking another drink of his whiskey. “I mean - look at you, versus me. Maybe I should just - be happy being her friend.”

“Up to you,” Abby told him. “But my advice is just ask.”

Russ stared at his drink as if thinking, and Rylen looked between them, that odd, thoughtful look still in his eyes. Finally he cleared his throat. “So, lass - is this tavern usually this quiet?”

Abby sighed and looked around at all the empty seats. “On Mondays, yeah,” she muttered. “I may close early tonight, management lets us if things are dead - costs them more to stay open on days like this.”

“You might get off early, then?” he asked, looking eager. “I was wondering, if you do - maybe we could see another part of the city, something I - I haven’t done before. I promised Russ here that we could hang out, but if you could come along - you wouldn’t mind, lad?”

“Hm?” Russ looked up, staring for a moment as if he hadn’t heard anything being said. “Oh yeah totally - I’d love to hang out. I mean I feel like I know you already, he talks about you -”

“Anyway, I - think we could have a good time,” Rylen said loudly, talking over Russ. “What is there to do?”

Abby stared at the pair for a moment, her mouth hanging slightly open as she tried to make sense of everything happening. All day, all damn day it had been one thing after another, and her mind was spinning, unable to handle so many odd occurrences.

Why not do something fun, as a distraction?

As if to cement the day’s mood, her phone buzzed and she instinctively looked at it.

_Abby, please, I’m not trying to do anything underhanded. I really do just want to talk, gorgeous. I can get us a table at our old haunt, any day that you’re available. Please, I want to try to make things work. I miss you._

It was the fifth unanswered text from John since Saturday, and she stared at it for a moment before she locked her phone and returned it to her back pocket.

“Everything all right, Abigail?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “You know what, you’re right. What the fuck, I’ve been having a lousy time lately. I could stand to have a little fun.”

“Yes!” Russ cried, pumping his fist in the air in his excitement. “That’s awesome! What should we do? We could - I’m drawing a blank, actually. There’s just so much we could do.”

“Something with alcohol,” Abby insisted. “I feel like just - drinking and dancing on a table, or something. It’s been that kind of a day.”

“Dancing on a table?” Rylen repeated, but he looked thoughtful. “Do you have lots of dancing here? Or dancing on tables - is that common?”

Abby laughed and shook her head. “No, that’s not really - I just mean I feel like letting loose, I’m just -”

When she trailed off again Rylen frowned. “Are you certain you’re all right, lass?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively as she said it, trying to ignore her phone vibrating once more in her pocket.

“Dancing - I mean, there’s nightclubs, they wouldn’t be too packed on a Monday,” Russ mused.

“I didn’t necessarily mean it _had_ to be dancing,” Abby hurried to say, but Rylen had perked up at the words.

“There are places you can go for dancing? I mean - that would be interesting to see,” he agreed. “Compare to what I was used to.”

“I mean - no, they’re - they’re loud, and crowded, and -” Abby began to protest, but Russ and Rylen were looking at one another, smiling and eagerly talking about what a nightclub was.

Before Abby knew it, she had gotten permission to close early and finished her shift work, grabbing her purse so that she could lock up after them all when she closed the bar. They headed to the apartment to drop off the textbook and Abby changed into something other than a simple t-shirt, deciding that if she was going out for some fun she was going to do it right.

“Do I look all right, lass?” Rylen asked her when he saw what she was wearing, frowning as if he was worried.

She adjusted the thin strap of her top and looked him over, finding her eyes lingering for longer than was really necessary over the way the plain white shirt fit. “Um, yeah - yeah, you look fine,” she told him, turning quickly away.

What the hell was wrong with her?

As if to remind herself how messy her life was she pulled out her phone again to check the latest text, the one she’d tried to ignore.

_Please don’t make me beg, gorgeous. I just want to talk, I want to see you. I know I made a mistake, and I want to try to fix things. We should talk, just the two of us._

“Hey is your armor here?” Russ’ sudden exuberant tone pulled her out of her musings over the text. She glanced up and saw Russ looking around the bare apartment as if he was in an exciting museum.

“Aye, it’s here - but another time lad, come on,” Rylen said, and Abby noticed that he glanced at her with a frown after he said it. “Ready?”

She nodded and grabbed her purse, slinging it across her body as she led the way out of the apartment. Russ was checking his breath with a hand before straightening the collar of his polo, and Rylen simply strolled down the hall with his hands in his pockets.

It was still quite possibly the weirdest Monday she’d had - ever.

“We can catch a cab - ooo, it’ll be your first car ride,” Abby said, raising her gaze to Rylen’s.

“Oh man - and I’m here for this!” Russ exclaimed. “This is so cool.”

“A - car?” Rylen asked, and he nodded slightly and dragged a hand down his chin as if he was thinking.

Abby followed the action with her gaze, admiring the tattooed lines again, the slight amount of scruff he had. She remembered the way she’d had to show him how to use a razor to shave, how to brush his teeth - and yet somehow the memories were fond and she found her heart racing again.

She shook herself slightly as they walked out onto the street to hail a cab, throwing out an arm when she saw an available one. It pulled over and she opened the door, standing aside to let someone else in first.

“I should probably sit in the middle,” she grumbled, and Russ eagerly got in first so that she could climb in after him. “Come on, Ry.”

She patted the empty seat and he bent in half to squeeze himself into the back seat, closing the door and looking around with a bemused frown. Abby gave the address and then reached for Rylen’s seatbelt, tugging it across his body with a smile.

“You’ll want this,” she told him as she clicked the seatbelt in to secure him. “And if you get scared you can hold my hand.”

She winked at him, smiling reassuringly even though her mind was screaming doubt at her for the way she was teasing him as if flirting. It had to be the weird day, had to be the fact that she was on her way to a nightclub - with Rylen, with someone from Thedas.

Sometimes that was still almost impossible to wrap her head around.

The cab took off slowly as the driver eased into traffic. Rylen shifted slightly and looked out the windows, but otherwise he showed no outward discomfort at the movement of the car. When they finally began going faster he shifted again and rested his hands on his knees, and instinctively Abby reached out to rest her hand on his.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

“Aye, it’s not - it’s not too different from a horse or a carriage,” he muttered. “I’m fine, but - thank you, lass.” As he said it he placed his other hand over hers and squeezed gently.

“R-right,” she agreed, staring at where her hand was sandwiched between his. “No problem.”

She expected him to release her, but instead he kept her hand between his as he looked out the window at the city passing him by. The cabby was ranting about traffic and Russ was pointing things out, and Abby sat silently, trying to ignore the confusing and conflicting emotions coursing through her.

All she needed was a drink and a distraction.

They finally pulled up to the nightclub, and the three of them jostled one another, arguing slightly over who would pay for the cab until they simply split it three ways. Abby leaned across Rylen to open the door for him before helping undo his seatbelt, giggling the whole time she had to show him how to work everything.

“Oh cool there’s no line,” Russ muttered when they all found their way onto the sidewalk. “Come on.”

“Oh fuck,” Abby said suddenly, staring at the bouncer checking IDs at the door. “Um - shit. You don’t have an ID. I totally forgot.”

“Yeah but look at him, he’s clearly not twenty,” Russ shrugged. “It’s fine, it’ll work. Just play it cool.”

After nodding incredibly eagerly, Russ stood straighter and cleared his throat, walking forward confidently. Abby shook her head and glanced at Rylen. “Follow my lead,” she muttered to him as she pulled her ID out of her wallet.

“Hey man,” Russ greeted the bouncer as he passed him his ID. “Slow night?”

The bouncer grunted noncommittally as he inspected Russ’ ID and then handed it back to him. Russ gave a thumbs up and then headed into the club. Abby walked forward and passed hers over, smiling brightly before she turned and looked at Rylen. “Oh honey, do you have your temporary ID?”

“Uh - no,” Rylen muttered, patting his pockets.

“Oh Jesus,” she giggled and rolled her eyes, glancing up at the bouncer. “Jetlag, he just got back from visiting his sick nan in Glasgow. The poor man tried to brush his teeth with first aid cream that was sitting out and put his shoes on the wrong feet.”

“I - ma’am, I need an ID from everyone,” the bouncer told her, but he was frowning.

“The only one he has is his passport, and he doesn’t really like bringing that out of the house, you know?” Abby grimaced apologetically. “Pickpockets. And we’ve been waiting for ages for his license but the DMV is - well you know how they are. They say two weeks and it’s really six, meanwhile you’re stranded using a piece of paper getting the third degree from everyone you show it to.”

The bouncer looked between Abby and Rylen, frowning. “Well,” he said slowly, as if considering.

“I mean look at the man, do I look like I’d be dating some little twenty year old?” Abby gestured at Rylen’s face and then winked at the bouncer. “He’s over thirty, I swear.”

“Thirty-five,” Rylen interjected with a shrug. “If it’s a problem, I can just -”

“Oh no, come on sweetie, we’re celebrating Russ’ promotion, we promised,” she told him, hanging on his arm before she turned her gaze back to the bouncer. “Please can we just - just this once?”

The bouncer sighed and handed her ID back to her. “Yeah all right,” he agreed. “The guy’s clearly older than me, so - go on in. Just maybe don’t - tell anyone, okay?”

“Thank you so much!” Abby said with a bright smile, taking Rylen’s hand. “Come on, honey, Russ is probably waiting for us.”

They walked into the club, still holding hands, and instead of releasing him once she was past the bouncer she tightened her grip so she could lead him through the crowd. Russ was waiting inside the door for them, wide-eyed and laughing at the sight of them.

“That was amazing!” he told Abby, following them through the club.

“I work at a bar, it’s not hard,” Abby shrugged.

“Yeah but you charmed the pants off that guy, I mean - if you were in a video game you’d have persuasion of like a hundred,” Russ proclaimed, gesturing a hand to emphasize his point.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Abby said, then shook her head and giggled. “Come on, I need a drink. Or three.”

They made their way through the crowd to the bar, and as they jostled through the people near the bar Rylen’s fingers interlaced with hers to avoid being separated. And for some reason, she smiled.

“What do you want?” she asked, raising her voice over the music. When she glanced back at him she saw him frowning, his face screwed up slightly as he looked around the club. “Hey, you okay?” she tugged his hand a bit to pull him down to her so she could hear him.

“I - it’s loud, is this - this is music?” he asked, shaking his head. “It’s - different from what I’ve heard you singing, lass.”

“What I’ve been singing to isn’t really dancing music, it’s more - let me cry in the shower music,” she told him and then laughed. “Is it too loud? We can go -”

“No it’s fine, I’m just - how does anyone dance to this?” He met her gaze and then chuckled. “You’ll have to show me, lass.”

“M-maybe after I’ve had a few drinks,” she answered, turning back around to the bar to get the bartender’s attention. She leaned on the bar once she was close enough, smiling and batting her eyelashes when she caught the bartender’s attention, and he quickly came over to see if she’d been helped. “Three double whiskey gingers, please.”

After the drinks were in front of her she passed over the cash, then turned to hand the other two drinks to the pair behind her. “This round’s on me, next one’s on one of you guys.”

“Lass, you didn’t have to -” Rylen began to protest, but she shook her head and smiled.

“Next one, it’s okay,” she assured him. “Drink up if you want me to show you how to dance.”

They moved aside to stand near a high top table, watching the dancing and trying to talk over the music. Russ bobbed and shuffled slightly to the music, drinking as he did.

“So this is something people do?” Rylen asked her, still frowning as he observed the dance floor.

“Yeah, something for fun,” she explained. “People danced in Thedas, right?”

“Aye, just - differently,” he answered with a shrug. “And there weren’t designated places, you just - sort of did. Unless it was a ball.”

“Did you attend many balls, Knight-Captain?” she teased.

“Ah, no,” he told her before he took a sip of his drink. “My sisters taught me to dance when I was younger, and I - may have taken lasses to a tavern to dance a time or two.”

Abby raised her eyebrows at the way Rylen seemed to clear his throat and take a bigger gulp of whiskey, avoiding her gaze. “And are you a good dancer?”

“Not according to my sister Imogen, but - I think I improved,” he said, standing up straighter and puffing his chest out slightly.

“Hmm, I feel like I’d have to judge that for myself,” Abby mused wryly, winking when he met her gaze.

“I wish they’d play some 90s R&B, I’ve been working on my moves,” Russ suddenly interjected, and he shuffled a bit more and then did a spin. “Or maybe some Michael Jackson, you know?”

Abby giggled and took a sip of her drink, looking over the dance floor. But a song came on that she actually liked and she perked up, suddenly wanting to dance, wanting to let loose like she’d planned.

“Oh, I - this is a good song,” she said.

“Let’s dance then, lass,” Rylen suggested, and he drained his glass and held a hand out to her.

“I - um, well -” she stuttered, but he took her hand and began to lead her to the dance floor. “Wait -”

“Come along, Abigail,” he called over his shoulder. “You said you’d show me how to dance.”

She finished the rest of her drink and set it on a table they passed, freeing up her hands. When they reached the dance floor Rylen turned to face her and stared for a moment as if unsure, looking around at how everyone else was dancing.

Taking a deep breath Abby tapped him on the chest to get his attention and began to sway her hips to the rhythm, trying to get him to follow along. He watched for a moment and then began to follow her lead, and he rested his hands on her hips, pulling her closer.

_“I knew it when I met him, I loved him when I left him. Got me feelin’ like ooh-ooh-ooh, and then I had to tell him, I had to go.”_

Abby sang along and relaxed into the dance, enjoying the way they were swaying to the beat, the way she felt like she was forgetting her problems. Carefree, happy, letting loose - just as she’d wanted. All she knew was the way they were moving together, and she turned and leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest as she continued rolling her hips to the tempo.

Rylen’s hands tightened slightly on her waist, but he still let her lead, holding her to him as they danced. To her surprise he spun her and pulled her back to face him, and when she glanced up she saw his eyes fixed on her with intensity, but he happily returned the hesitant smile she gave him.

They continued dancing close to one another until the song ended and the next began, a louder song with a faster beat, and Abby swallowed hard and took a step back. “Um - want another drink?” she suggested, pushing her hair off her face as she tried to steady herself.

She just hadn’t danced in a long time, that was all.

“Aye,” he agreed, gesturing for her to lead. “My turn to buy.”

“Y-yeah,” she said with several nods. “It is.”

They made their way back to the bar, and while they tried to catch the bartender’s attention Abby avoided his gaze and fidgeted with her top. Her stomach was fluttering, thinking about how it had felt, their hips swaying and rocking against one another’s.

“Guys! Wait - I got a round,” an eager voice cried and suddenly Russ appeared trying to balance three more drinks. His cheeks were rosy, his nose pink, and Abby giggled when she realized he was likely already tipsy.

“Thanks, Russ,” Abby told him, taking two of the drinks and passing one to Rylen. “Next one’s still on you -”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” a shrill voice sounded from behind Abby, and she turned slowly to face its owner. “Ugh, I didn’t know they let _trash_ in here.”

A young woman in a too tight, too short white dress was standing behind them, holding a half-empty Cosmopolitan in one impeccably manicured, long-nailed hand. Her platinum blonde hair was perfectly straightened, her glossy, selfie-worthy makeup still in place despite the heat of the nightclub. The sneer on her face ruined the otherwise carefully presented image of perfection, her gaze roaming over Abby with clear and utter hatred shining in her hazel eyes.

For a moment Abby simply stared, wondering what on Earth she had done to deserve this much weirdness in one day. But she quickly recovered herself and smirked, taking a lazy drink of her whiskey before she replied.

“Well, if they let you in their standards must be pretty low,” Abby returned. “After all, you’re the bottom of the barrel, isn’t that right, Jenna?”

“Still not as low as you, and who are these - _losers_ that you’re with?” Jenna continued sneering as she let her eyes wander over Russ and Rylen. “You’ve really gone down in the world without John, haven’t you, hanging out with nerds and thugs. Is this one your pimp or something?”

“Don’t you have someone’s husband to blow?” Abby gritted out. “I’m amazed to see you actually out and not on your knees earning some diamonds.”

“Lass -”

“Um -”

“You bitch,” the younger woman said. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep him happy. You’re the one who loved whiskey more than the man who shared your bed.”

“Fuck you -” Abby began, stepping forward.

“Abigail, now’s not the -”

“Yes, please restrain your whore,” Jenna directed with a hollow laugh. “And maybe teach her how to actually please a man if you expect to make any money off her. She doesn’t exactly have a great track record.”

“That’s it,” Abby drained her glass and set it behind her on the bar. “At least there’s more I’m good at than fucking a man for gifts, unlike you. Are you out on the prowl for another sugar daddy, bored with John since he keeps texting me about how much he misses me?”

For a moment the younger woman faltered, something shifting behind her eyes before they narrowed again. “He wouldn’t, he’s happy to be free of you -”

“The two texts I got this evening say otherwise,” Abby mused, smirking at the way she was clearly rattling Jenna. “Already bored of you, it seems. Besides you’re what, twenty-two, twenty-three? You were always going to get less time with him than I did, I mean after all - he seems to have an aversion to women approaching thirty.”

“He’s not bored - you’re full of shit,” Jenna spat, but she looked unsure.

Abby pulled her phone out and opened to the texts. “Am I?” She watched as the other woman’s face fell as she read the screen. “Poor Jenna. Better pick a new target soon, looks like Daddy’s already bored. Maybe if you had more going for you than being able to suck dick -”

She cut off as Jenna tried to fling her drink in her face, but managed to miss in her anger and got Russ’ shirt instead. Abby simply laughed, but the younger woman lunged and grabbed for her. Before Abby could fully react, two sets of hands tried to pull them apart, strong fingers gripping Abby to move her out of the other woman’s reach.

“Lass! That’s enough,” Rylen was shouting, standing between them to keep Jenna away from Abby. “Walk away - after all, you’re in the wrong here.”

“What do you know about it?” Jenna gritted out. “Some fucking - loser with tattoos on his face - get off me!”

“Only if you back off,” Rylen told her. “Walk away -”

“Fine!” Jenna pushed Rylen away from her and glared at Abby. “I don’t want to be around this _trash_ anymore anyway.”

“Says the husband-stealing gold-digging whore,” Abby called after her retreating figure, struggling against where Russ and Rylen were both holding her. “Let go of me, both of you -”

“Only if you calm down, lass -”

“I am calm, I’m just - fucking Christ,” Abby shoved at both of them and took deep breaths, pushing her hair out of her face. “What even is today? I just - how - _how_ \- did we run into her too?”

“Too?” Rylen asked with a frown.

“I just - this fucking sucks,” she groaned. “Can we - can we just go home? I’m - I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Of course,” Rylen agreed, and he gestured Russ to precede them through the crowd. He held out a hand to her and she took it, letting him lead her, not caring at all about anything going on around them.

Once outside on the sidewalk Russ flagged down another cab, and they all piled into the back as before - and still Rylen held her hand.

“Are you all right lass?” he asked when the cab took off.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered.

“This has been such a cool day,” Russ said. “It’s been ages since I went out - thanks for letting me come, I got to see all of this, and meet you and just - I love you guys.”

“L-lad, are you drunk?” Rylen mused, and when Russ merely laughed Rylen chuckled and shook his head. “Aye, we should get him home first.”

They directed the cab to Russ’ building before making certain he had his keys and could get in all right, and then gave their address so they could get home. Rylen maintained his hold on her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he looked out the window. When they got out of the cab he paid, and Abby mused over how easily he’d adjusted to some things about Earth.

“Well, I think you got the full experience your first time going out,” she told him as they walked into their building. “We had to lie our way past a bouncer, your friend got drunk and kept professing his love by saying ‘I love you, man,’ and you had to break up a drunk girl fight.”

“So that was all standard?” he asked, fishing in his pocket for the apartment key she had given him.

“I mean for a drunk night out, yeah,” she shrugged as she said it. “What’d you think?”

“It was - interesting,” he answered hesitantly as he opened their door and let her enter first. “The dancing was all right, though - but definitely different from Thedas.”

“Oh? Did you guys all do the waltz or something?” she asked.

Talking like this, normally, just about the night, was helping. She was trying to focus on his words, on his reactions, not on the way her insides were twisting with anger or the way her mind was racing because she still couldn’t comprehend the day’s events.

“The - no I don’t know that one,” he told her. “I could show you though - turn on some music, lass. Something not as loud as the music we danced to.”

She stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “All right,” she agreed, and she opened the music on her phone and hit play accidentally. “Oh wait -”

“No, this is perfect,” he said, and before she could change the song he grabbed her phone and set it on the bar cart. His arms were around her and he was guiding her in a dance before she could protest, spinning circles around the room in something that definitely resembled a waltz.

It took everything to keep up with him, to let him lead and not trip over her feet, and she still found herself wanting to change the song. But he kept twirling her around the barely furnished living room in perfect time to the song.

_“If I can’t change the weather, maybe I can change your mind. If we can’t be together, what’s the point of life.”_

“This is a nice song, lass,” Rylen commented after a few moments.

“I - it’s um - it’s cheesy, you should have let me choose something else,” she muttered, trying not to think about how much she liked this song, how much the lyrics were tugging at something in her. She glanced up at him, again meeting an intense look in his aqua eyes as they continued moving around the room.

“It’s good for dancing,” he said. “What do you think of Thedas dancing, lass?”

“I - it’s - nice,” she answered. “You’re right, you’re - good at it.”

“It helps to have the right partner,” he murmured.

Despite herself she smiled, feeling her cheeks heating again as her heart raced. It had been such an odd day, she was still angry about seeing Jenna, still confused about running into Connie, overwhelmed with too many emotions. And yet somehow, spinning around the room in his arms, one hand held in his - she was smiling, carefree.

_“If we can’t be together, I will leave this world behind. If I can’t touch your body, can I touch the sky?”_

“Today was - weird. But I - I actually had a good time with you tonight, Ry,” she told him, shortening his name again. She glanced up, and her breath caught at the smile he was giving her in response.

“I did too, Abigail,” he agreed.

The song ended and they slowed to a stop, simply staring at one another - but neither of them made a move to release their hold on the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the club: ["Havana" by Camila Cabello ft. Young Thug](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDIAam5qGUc).
> 
> The song for the slow dance: ["Wait by the River" by Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NY50XnGKvRE).


	10. Rylen's Modern Life

It was an odd sort of feeling, mentally counting down the time until he'd be off work. His time as Knight-Captain had only had lulls but no times that he was actually really off duty. Unless he got a temporary leave to visit his family, or perhaps slip away to visit a lass, like how he'd snuck off a few times to visit Lottie before he was sent to Redcliffe. Now, though, while he was focused on work his mind kept wandering to the fact that soon he’d be off work and able to head home to spend the evening with Abigail.

When he’d seen her that morning she had been groggy but smiled at him, wishing him a good day at work before he left. And even though he always worked as hard as he could, he found himself wondering if he could finish the day a little earlier so that he could get back to the apartment. After all, it was her day off, which would mean more time with her if he could finish up here. He didn’t even want to do anything romantic, just dinner and talking, maybe ask her to watch the sunset with him on the fire escape. A chance to continue getting to know her and give her an ear to listen if she needed it. After what had happened the night before he could only assume she could use one.

A hand tapping on his shoulder pulled him out of his musings and he turned away from his work. Russell was standing behind him, eyes wide, and he passed over the shiny brick - phone, he needed to remember that - in his hand.

The screen was lit up, bright white, but there were bubbles of yellow and blue with words in them. A whole string of yellow preceded one single blue bubble.

 

_Hey I know this might be out of the blue but I was thinking you’re really great._

_Also you’re pretty._

_Hey any chance you’d want to go to lunch or coffee or like dinner sometime? I think it’d be fun. I’ve been wanting to ask for a while but didn’t know if you’d feel the same._

_My friends convinced me to take a chance. I think you’d like them._

_Anyway, dinner sometime?_

 

_Sure! That sounds fun :-)_

 

Rylen glanced up at Russell with a frown and then pulled his ear protection off one ear. “What am I looking at, lad?”

“I - I drunk texted Gabriela last night!” Russell exclaimed, and he almost looked panicked. “I asked her out. I - what should I do?”

Rylen quirked an eyebrow and glanced back down at the phone in his hand. The yellow had to be Russell, and Rylen smirked a little as he reread the messages. “You take her to dinner, Russ. After all, you asked her and she said yes.”

“But I - I - I just -” Russ stuttered out, looking around the site as if at a complete loss.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” Rylen asked, and he passed the phone back to Russ. “You said you weren't certain what she'd say but it looks like you have your answer.”

“I - I haven't taken anyone on a date in so long,” Russ muttered. “What if - what if it doesn't go well? What if there isn't a second and then I've ruined our friendship?”

“That's a lot of ‘what if’s,’ lad,” Rylen mused. “You'll never have the answer to any of them if you don't try.”

“Help me, man!” Russ pleaded. “I - you're better at all this romance stuff than me -”

“I don't know about that,” Rylen denied, shaking his head as he said it. All of his recent attempts had simply worked the opposite of how he had intended them, and had only seemed to make matters worse for poor Abigail.

“Oh please you’re - you’re a lot smoother than me. You got her to dance with you last night and just - that was some ‘Dirty Dancing’ Swayze level stuff,” Russ implored him. “Come on, Rylen, please?”

“Some - what, lad?” Rylen frowned at him again, too confused by his words to deny helping again.

“It’s a movie, and - I mean the way you two were dancing,” Russ tried to roll his hips in a circle to emphasize his point, “it was perfect. Please help me? I really like Gabriela, I can’t do this alone.”

Rylen sighed and shook his head, looking out over the site. He didn’t feel much better at this than Russ, considering he had never actually tried to woo someone for more than a few nights together. Honestly he had almost thought Russell had made up the lass he was enamored with to cover the way he had accidentally let slip that they had spoken of courtship to Abigail. But if she was real - after all, this was what friends were for, right?

“All right, Russ,” Rylen agreed. “What can I do to help?”

“Well, I mean - first what should I say? I mean how should I reply?” Russell asked, lifting his phone again to look at the messages.

“Tell her you’re delighted and ask when she would like to have dinner,” Rylen answered with a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah, great,” Russ agreed, and he began tapping the screen. It reminded Rylen of the way he often saw Abigail do the same when she said she was writing. “How’s - how’s this: ‘Great! I’m looking forward to it. When are you free?’”

“Sounds good,” Rylen told him, and he began to pull the protection over his ear again, thinking that they were done.

“Wait - what do I say when she texts back? And what if - what if it’s not until after work? I’ll need your help -”

Rylen halted in covering his ear once more, thinking for a moment. Finally he shrugged. “You’ll be fine, lad,” he insisted.

“No, wait - I have an idea. Do you have plans after work?” Russ asked eagerly.

Rylen sighed, thinking about how he wanted to simply go home when he was done with the work day. But he shook his head and when Russ smiled he returned it.

“Cool! We’ll - we’ll go - okay yeah great,” Russ said, rambling slightly to himself as he nodded his head. “Yeah, after work.” And he wandered back to his area of the site.

His internal timekeeping felt different now, thinking about how much longer it would be until he went home. But the lad seemed in need of his help, and so when the work day was over he followed Russell through the streets, talking casually as they went.

“Any answer from your lass?” Rylen asked as they turned a corner.

“No not yet, but I think she’s at work, must have texted me on her lunch break,” Russell answered. “Where should I take her? Somewhere fancy you think? Or somewhere casual?”

“Depends on what the lass is like,” Rylen shrugged as he said it, thinking again that he wasn’t the right person to help. If anything he still didn’t know much about Earth’s customs yet, and certainly very little about what a lass here would like.

“I think maybe she’d like a burger, or pizza,” Russ mused slowly. “I guess maybe I’ll just ask her.”

“Good idea, lad,” Rylen agreed.

Russell continued talking as they walked, and Rylen listened as well as he could while he looked around them, lost in thought. When Russell led him into a store he didn’t ask questions, instead distracted by the many wares on the shelves and the bright lights glinting off the white tile floor. Of all the things he was still adjusting to, the unnatural lights inside buildings were the hardest to which to adjust.

“Are we getting something for your lass?” he asked as he looked around the store, squinting slightly against the harsh lighting.

“Oh, no actually - I realized, I mean - I know money must be tight for Abigail,” Russ began, and he almost looked sheepish as he fidgeted with the orange vest he was still wearing. “And you wouldn’t know to look for one of these. But um - we’re going to get you an air mattress.”

“A - what?” Rylen quirked an eyebrow, trying to imagine such a thing.

“You’ll see. Hey is there a reason she won’t get a bed?” Russ asked as he led Rylen down a row of shelves.

“I asked and she said something about ‘not unless it’s my bed,’ something like that,” Rylen answered, trying to recall. She had gotten irritated about it too, and so he hadn’t thought to press the matter.

“Oh, she must want that in the divorce,” Russ said. “Here, there’s -”

“Wait, lad - what do you mean?” Rylen stopped him with a hand on his chest, frowning as he tried to decipher what he had said.

“The bed - she probably has one that she’s asking for in the divorce. I mean that’s part of what divorce is, you divide assets, property - if she said ‘not unless it’s my bed,’ she must be waiting on the one at their house or something.” Russ shrugged and began scanning the aisles.

“She would even have to ask for the bed?” Rylen questioned, frowning as he stopped beside Russ and stared down the aisle, thinking hard. What kind of laws kept those sort of possessions away from a wife who had been wronged?

“It’s joint property, so yeah,” Russell told him. “Have you met her husband at all? I mean it was hard to tell, are things - they’re not amicable, are they?”

“He’s a right bastard,” Rylen answered immediately. “Puffed-up like some blasted, uppity Orlesian Noble, seems to think he can buy anything and anyone. He’s playing games with the lass, and I can tell it’s driving her more than a wee bit batty.”

“Wow you sound - what happened? You actually sound - angry,” Russ pointed out, his eyes wide as he stared up at Rylen.

Rylen shook his head and dragged his hand down his chin, looking away. He was still sweaty from work, still likely covered in grime, and he couldn’t help but compare himself in his mind to the image of careful grooming her husband always had. Then again he thought about the anger in Abby’s eyes when she looked at the other man, and the strangely soft look she got in her eyes when she looked at Rylen.

Maybe she didn’t care about all that.

“Rylen?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, lad,” Rylen muttered when he snapped out of his thoughts. He heaved a sigh and shook his head again. “I’ve met her husband twice now, and he - let’s just say she deserves to be treated better, that’s all.”

“You’re better,” Russ mused slowly.

“I don’t even mean me, she just - doesn’t deserve how he toys with her,” Rylen grumbled. “Now show me one of these wind beds, would you?”

Russell laughed and turned back to the shelf. “Air mattress,” he corrected. “But yeah, here - I know you guys don’t have a lot of floor space, and you’d be miserable on a twin but a full should fit.”

“A full what? Of air?” Rylen asked with another frown. Sometimes these words just made no sense, considering they were familiar but used in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

“That’s the size,” Russ told him. It never ceased to amaze Rylen how the lad never seemed to be irritated or annoyed having to explain the simplest things - instead he somehow always seemed eager and excited to do so.

“Here, it’s only fifty dollars, but it’s - wait how tall are you?” Russ turned to face him, holding a large box in his hands.

“I’m almost nineteen hands,” Rylen answered, standing slightly straighter as he said it so that Russell could assess it for himself.

“I - uh,” Russ muttered, and he looked Rylen up and down for a second as he considered. “We’ll just grab the full XL anyway. That’s only ten dollars more.”

“Sixty, lad? But I need to give Abigail money for food, and her home -” Rylen began to protest.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Russ insisted. “You need something to sleep on, don’t be stubborn about it. She’s stubborn enough for the both of you.”

Rylen grumbled for a moment under his breath and then nodded, gesturing for Russ to lead the way back down the aisle to the counter to make the purchase. He had gotten used to paying for things now, familiar with the paper money that they used and the fake friendliness of the merchants. Russ referred to it as customer service, but it was confusing to Rylen - he was used to gruff merchants, harried barmaids. He had preferred it, strangely, because it was more direct, easier to handle in its honesty.

But he bought the so-called air mattress and followed Russ out of the store, thinking that they would continue on so that he could head home. Instead Russ led him further down the street and into another store, this one with walls lined with displays of small, black, shiny bricks - phones.

“Need something?” Rylen asked, but Russ simply smiled.

“Hey you got paid today, right?” he asked almost absently.

“Aye, I did, why -” Rylen answered with a frown, but Russ gestured for him to follow to the counter.

“Hey man, I was hoping to add a line to my plan,” Russell greeted the young man working behind the counter.

“Sure, what’s the number?”

Rylen let his gaze wander, hardly paying attention to the conversation happening beside him as he looked around the store. He had seen both Abigail and Russell use their phones, and Abigail had shown and explained some of the things they were capable of to him. Yet he still couldn’t quite comprehend how they worked, and he wanted to figure out more about this “service” she was always talking about and seeking when she lost it. The sudden thought that if he had a phone he could speak to her during the day as well crossed his mind, and he thought about asking Russ how much one would cost when he was done with his errand at the counter.

“Hey, Rylen, come here,” Russ said suddenly, tapping his arm and waving a hand to get him to lean down. “Yeah, thanks man - give us a few just to make sure.”

“Of course, take your time,” the young man behind the counter said and he stepped away.

“What is it, lad?” Rylen asked as he leaned closer to Russ.

“So, I know - I know that this is making a lot of assumptions, but um,” he took a deep breath, “I want to put you on my phone plan.”

“You want to - what?” Rylen simply stared at him, baffled.

“Yeah, I mean - I only have the one line right now but it’s a really good plan, has unlimited data and minutes, and you could rent to buy the phone so you don’t have to shell out a ton right now,” Russ explained. “You need a phone, man. Think about it - we could talk after work, and you could text Abigail during the day, you could talk to the other guys about work.”

“I - no lad you don’t need to do this for me -” Rylen protested.

“Listen, it’s a - a friends and family plan, but I’m the only one on it,” Russ told him quietly, and he fidgeted with his hands on the counter and avoided Rylen’s gaze. “I just - you’re my friend, and it’d be cool to - be able to talk after work. It’s only a payment of fifty dollars each month, we can get it all set up in my name so there’s no - no issue. I think it’d be good for you.”

Rylen sighed and dragged his hand down his chin, thinking hard. The lad had a point, and he’d already been thinking about it, after all. This was likely his best chance, and that sounded like a small amount each month. To be able to talk to Abigail when he was away from her sounded wonderful, and speaking with Russell outside of work - Abigail worked nights, the chance to talk to someone else would be nice.

“All right, mate,” Rylen agreed. “What do you need from me?”

Russ greeted these words with a wide, incredibly eager smile before he began to explain how the phone plan and payment would work. When they decided on the amount and Rylen had handed over the right amount of cash, they called the young man back over and took care of the transaction. Once everything was set up, Russ handed Rylen a small white bag made of that odd plastic Abigail had tried to explain to him and they left the store.

“Here, let me see the phone,” Russ said once they were out on the sidewalk.

Rylen handed it over carefully, suddenly realizing just how delicate and careful he needed to be with the lightweight brick. Russ stood for a moment tapping at the screen, and then he turned so that he could show Rylen something.

“All right, so - I’ve put my number in here for you, okay?” Russ said and he pointed at it. “I’m going to call my phone from yours so that I have your number too but - if you want to call me press this,” Russ pointed at a green circle on the screen, “and if you want to text press this and then enter your message. Is Abby home tonight?”

“Aye, it’s her night off, I was hoping to spend some time with her,” Rylen answered as he watched Russell make a call from his new phone. “Why?”

“Well, this’ll be a good opportunity to do that,” Russ mused with a few laughs. “Get her to show you how to use a phone. Get her number. Sit close to her and make googly eyes while she shows you how to use this.”

“Googly eyes?” Rylen asked, quirking an eyebrow as he accepted his phone from Russ once more.

“Yeah, you know, puppy dog eyes,” Russ made his eyes wide and batted his eyelashes, “like you can’t get enough of the sight of her.”

Rylen laughed and shook his head. “Maybe you will need my help with your lass if that’s what you think wooing is,” he quipped. “Thank you, though, lad. I think you’re right, I needed these things but the poor lass - well. She has a lot going on.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Russ agreed, and he stood a little straighter as he smiled at Rylen. “Well, I’ll - I’ll let you get home to her, I’m sure you want to spend some time with her after last night. I’ll text you if I hear from Gabriela.”

“Aye, lad, sounds good,” Rylen said, and he tapped the phone against his palm before he nodded farewell. “See you tomorrow, Russ.”

“Yeah, bye,” Russ waved and turned the opposite direction to head home, and Rylen did the same.

He walked through the streets quickly, thinking of how much he wanted to get home, of the hours he could spend with her tonight. She’d been so stressed, so busy, and he hoped tonight he could help her forget all that. Russell was likely right, the chance to get her to show him how to use a phone was a more than adequate opportunity to distract her and get her to spend time with him.

Carefully balancing the large box he was holding in the same arm carrying the bag, he managed to open their building’s door and hurried up the stairs to their apartment. When he approached the door he could hear Abigail’s voice, but he couldn’t hear who she was speaking to. With a slight frown he put his key in the door and opened it, looking around the small apartment to search her out.

At the sound of him walking in Abigail glanced up and smiled, waving with a hand that held a pen, her other holding her phone to her ear.

“Ugh, no, it turned out to be a typo, luckily, I was definitely not looking to work a double tomorrow,” she said into the phone. “But anyway, that does mean I’m free for lunch, if that works for you.”

Rylen closed the door behind him and scowled, staring at the smooth wood for a moment as he tried to collect himself.

Lunch - wasn’t that what her husband had asked her to meet him for? Was she going? She had seemed angry at his suggestion, but perhaps the messages he had sent her, the ones she showed his mistress, had changed her mind.

He had said he missed her.

Abigail’s giggles pulled him out of his thoughts and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was sitting relaxed on the sofa, her legs pulled under her, a small journal propped open on her knees. She continued smiling as she listened to the person on the phone, and then she giggled again. “Oh god when was the last time I went there,” she mused with another laugh. “But no that sounds great. And noon works perfectly if you can slip away from the office, I can meet you there.”

Rylen sighed and finally turned from the door, walking into the kitchen to set both of his purchases down. He realized he hoped that Abigail knew how to set up an air mattress, since Russell hadn’t told him how. With another sigh and some grumbling to himself he finally pulled off his orange vest and hung it by the door before he grabbed a glass to pour himself some water.

His shirt was sticking to him, and he felt grimy from his day of hard labor. He’d wait until after he had supper to shower, but for the time being he could at least change out of his work clothes while he waited for her to get off the phone. His mind again tried to draw a comparison to how he must look coming home from work and the times he had seen her husband, but he shook his head and tried to ignore the thoughts as he peeled his shirt over his head.

“Yeah, d - def - definitely,” he heard Abigail stutter, and he turned to face her with a frown. She was leaning over the journal in her lap furiously scribbling something with her pen, and if he wasn’t mistaken her cheeks were flushed. “I’m really looking forward to it, you have no idea.”

Rylen threw his shirt aside and dragged his hand down his chin again, trying to fight the irritation he felt at the eager tone of her voice. The man was still her husband, Rylen had no place to be angry if she saw him. They were barely friends, just thrown together by circumstance, that was all -

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Abigail’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mmhmm - bye!” She pressed the screen of her phone and then glanced up at Rylen with a smile, but when she did her eyes wandered over his chest and she cleared her throat and looked away. “How was your day?”

“Fine, lass,” he answered as he searched for a clean shirt. “How was yours?”

“Really great, actually,” she told him, and she continued to write quickly in the journal before she looked up again. She still seemed flustered, almost, and he wondered if it was because of the phone call. “Productive. Got some cleaning done, fixed my schedule at work. They had me down for tomorrow during the day which would have sucked -”

“Got plans, then?” he interrupted gruffly before he could stop himself.

She watched him pull the shirt over his head before she seemed to shake herself a little and nod. “Yeah, and hopefully it all goes well -”

“I’m happy for you,” he muttered, and he walked over to where he had left the new phone and his glass of water.

“I - wait what are you -” she trailed off and watched him walk over to the sofa to take a seat beside her.

“You said lunch - that was your man, wasn’t it?” he asked, but he frowned when he saw just how confused she looked.

For a moment she simply stared, and then she burst into laughter and put a hand on his arm. “Oh god no, no, that was Connie - his first wife,” Abigail explained as she released his arm. “I ran into her yesterday, and she asked me to lunch. She has a friend who might want to take my case, and a better lawyer would hopefully mean I could get this divorce over and done with soon. And with a chance at actually winning.”

Rylen couldn’t help the way his heart raced a little at the explanation, at the realization that she hadn’t been arranging to meet her husband to reconcile. Instead she had been making plans to try to get away faster. He smiled and took a sip of water, hoping to hide the wide grin threatening to spread across his face. “Aye, that is good news,” he finally said.

“I’m actually really excited, I thought for sure - well, I certainly didn’t expect to get help from her,” Abigail told him. “But this is really good. How about you - what’s - is that a phone?”

She reached to where his hand held the phone in his lap and took it from him, looking it over before she raised a confused frown to him.

“Aye, Russ uh - put me on his plan?” he said slowly, hoping he had remembered the phrasing correctly. “Said I could use a phone, and gave me his number.”

Abigail’s eyebrows rose on her forehead and she glanced back down at the phone before she passed it back to him. “Did he show you how to use it?”

“No, he didn’t have time, he was waiting to hear back from his lass,” he explained.

“His - did he ask her out?” Abigail turned on the sofa so that she was facing him, an eager gleam coming into her eyes.

“Aye, said he did it while he was drunk. The lass said yes,” Rylen told her.

For a moment they both chuckled, and then Abigail shifted slightly closer to him. “So, I’m guessing you need help figuring this whole technology and phone thing out, huh?”

He managed to look a little sheepish, as if he hadn’t been planning to ask her. “A little help would be nice, if you - if you have time,” he finally agreed.

“Of course, I didn’t have any plans tonight anyway, just, um - just hanging out,” she muttered, trailing off again. She cleared her throat and set aside her journal, pulling her legs up to cross so that she was sitting fully facing him. “I guess we’ll have to start with the very basics…”

Rylen tried his best to pay attention to what she was showing him as she explained buttons, how to power it on and off, what a battery was and how he could charge it up again. But she was sitting close, and the scent of the perfume she put on some days was overpowering his senses, his nerves already alert to her close proximity. The entire time she explained how to work the basic functions of his phone she leaned near, her cheek almost resting on his shoulder as she pointed things out on the screen.

After she showed him something she would have him repeat the action, and a few times when he messed up she reached with her thin fingers to show him once more. Often her fingers brushed his when she did, and he tried to keep himself steady and paying attention, balancing keeping her near with keeping her from thinking he was simple. He needed to learn this - but her closeness was distracting, and he found himself glad despite himself when she had to repeat her explanations. It meant more time like this, with her sitting so near and speaking so softly and teasingly to him.

“Okay, so - now that you know all that, here - we can practice other stuff using my phone too,” she told him. “Press there - you’re going to put my number in and then I can show you how to call and text.”

“Aye, all right,” he agreed, recalling Russ’ advice to get her number anyway. Something about it felt odd; the way Russ had said it had seemed to imply that this was some sort of ritual, and he wondered what exactly it meant. But he listened as she gave him her phone number and he pressed the corresponding buttons on the screen.

“Perfect,” she said when he was done. “Okay so press there - and hit add new contact. Then put in my name,” she giggled as she watched him spell out ‘Abigail,’ “and then hit there to save it. And ta-da! Now you have my number.”

“So that means -” he pressed the green button he had seen Russell press earlier “- now I can call you?”

Her phone began vibrating loudly in her hand, and she giggled. “Fast learner,” she softly praised. She swiped a red button across the screen and then quickly pressed a few more buttons, adding him as a contact as she had just shown him to do with her.

When she typed in ‘Ry’ as the name he smiled, his heart almost feeling as if it skipped a beat as he watched her hit save. Something about her using the nickname, the fact that she had so naturally taken to calling him that - it planted a seed of hope he wanted to let take root deep inside him. Perhaps patience would pay off, after all.

“Well, you seem to have calling down,” she said. “And remember how I told you to hold it, and you don’t need to do anything more than speak in your normal voice.”

“Aye,” he agreed, and he shifted slightly on the sofa. Before he could stop to think about it he rested his arm on the back of the sofa, but to his surprise she shifted as well and leaned back until his arm was encompassing her shoulders.

“So, texting next?” she suggested, glancing up at him with a small smile.

Texting took more questions, more focus, and he became increasingly frustrated with how small the buttons on the screen were. His clumsy thumbs kept hitting more letters than he meant for them to, so that he had to continually erase what he was writing. Abigail simply giggled and scooted closer, though, coaching him through it patiently as if there was nothing else she’d rather be doing.

“Don’t worry, everyone fucks up, they’re called typos,” she assured him. “You’ll get the hang of it too. We all had to learn how to type on these screens, we used to have little actual buttons to type. It’s fine if it takes you a while.”

“Aye, true, I suppose,” he agreed. “After all I’ve never written with anything like this - just a quill and now pens and pencils, which even those were different than I was used to.”

She laughed again and leaned against his side as she did. “Just practice, that’s all,” she told him.

“Can this phone take pictures?” he asked suddenly, remembering the photo they took in the park.

“Yeah, of course,” she said, and she coached him through finding his camera and began to explain how to use it. When he turned it on her she giggled harder and playfully pushed at his arm. “No - not -”

“Oh come on, lass,” he teased, trying to pull his phone away from where her hand was blocking it. “You have a picture of me on your phone, let me get one of you.”

“I - well I guess I could show you how to set it as a contact picture,” she agreed with a sigh. “All right, fine.”

He grinned as he aimed the phone at her, trying to get it positioned right. When he winked at her she scrunched her nose up at him in a pout, and he hit the button she had told him took pictures.

“Hey!” she cried playfully, reaching for the phone. “No wait I wasn’t ready -”

“You look cute, lass,” he told her, laughing as he tried to wrestle and keep the phone away from her. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad, really -”

“Give me - no fair!” she said, but she huffed a sigh and smacked his arm before she settled by his side again to pout. “That was mean.”

“How was that mean, lass? It’s a great picture, looks just like you,” he pointed out, and when she made the same face at him in response he dissolved into laugher.

After a moment she let out a few giggles and then joined him fully in his mirth, laughing until she was clutching her side. “I guess you’re right,” she conceded. “Okay, then let me show you how to set contact pictures at least.”

At the end of her next short lesson, her phone number was attached to the picture he had taken of her. Now every time he pulled up the practice texts he had been sending her or her number to call, that cute pout was there on the screen for him to see.

“I’m trying to think - that should be the basics,” she told him, tapping her fingers on her knee as she thought. “I mean that way at least you can get a hold of Russ and I. Hmm…”

“What else can a phone do?” he asked as he swiped across the screen and looked at the ‘menus’ she had explained to him. There were a lot of other icons, ones he hadn’t asked about yet.

“Um, well - I mean you can use them to look stuff up,” she answered, and then she shrugged. “Okay, this will take a lot of explaining, but you can use it to access the internet.”

“The - what-net?” he repeated, frowning at her.

“Ummm okay, let me - figure out how to make this make sense,” she began, chewing a lip as she messed around with the screen on her phone. “So, there’s something called the internet that basically gives us access to - information. About basically everything.”

“Information about everything? Like - you would find in a library or something?” he asked, his frown deepening as he stared at his phone, trying to comprehend the concept. An entire library on his phone?

“Sort of,” she said, nodding eagerly. “That’s a good way of thinking about it. So you can search this portable, mobile library about anything. And not just things you’d find in books, even about - here-”

She opened something on her phone and turned, leaning back against him so that he could easily see her screen. He watched as she wrote in ‘best pizza place in Brooklyn’ and hit another button. The screen went white, then suddenly had words on it, different colors, and pictures of pizza. It looked like answers to her inquiry, there at her beck and call.

“See?” she asked, glancing up at him. “So you could also look up - information on New York, say -” she typed in ‘New York City’ and waited while the ‘internet’ answered her inquiry again. “You can use it to find somewhere you’re looking for, to answer a question you have, to learn about something. It’ll - take a lot of getting used to, I bet, but that’s the gist of it.”

“It has information on - anything?” he asked, and she nodded. His mind was reeling, but a sudden thought came to him. “Does it - does it have information on me? On Thedas?”

“Um, yeah, here,” she typed in ‘Dragon Age Inquisition’ and waited for her answer to be fetched again. She clicked on something on the page and passed her phone to him with a deep sigh. “Here, scroll down to synopsis, that’s - that’ll have it all.”

She directed him to the section she meant, and he began to read while she sat silently beside him. Occasionally she fidgeted, reaching for her journal and flipping through the pages, tapping her pen on it. But she stayed at his side as he read through it all, as he discovered the story - and realized just how much he had missed.

“I - this Breach, it had only just - it had only just opened,” he murmured, and he dragged a hand down his chin. “I suppose it’s nice to see that wasn’t the end of the blasted world, but -”

“Are you okay?” she asked, turning toward him and resting her hand on his arm. “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure -”

“I’m - fine, just give me a moment, lass,” he said quietly. He reread a few parts, trying to determine how he felt about it all, how things had happened after he left.

And still she sat beside him, the hand on his arm gently squeezing, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin until he noticed she was tracing the tattoo lines on his forearm. It was soothing, and finally he lowered the phone with a sigh.

“So - a lot to take in?” she repeated softly, and when he looked at her he saw her brows furrowed with concern as she looked up at him. There was understanding and warmth in her dark eyes, and he reached over with a hand and squeezed her knee.

“Just a bit,” he agreed. “So - you don’t know what happens after that? It just sort of - it sounds open-ended, Thedas is still in trouble -”

“The next game hasn’t been released,” she told him with a shrug. “Like I said, this is all - this is supposed to be a fiction, here. I didn’t know - no one knew - that Thedas was real. I wish I had more answers for you.”

“Aye, I do too,” he mused slowly. His mind was still reeling, trying to absorb what he had read. “All of that and I’m - here. I mean, the Commander, what if he -”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Abigail hurried to assure him. “Did you - who was the Herald? Did you see who walked out of the Fade?”

“Aye, it was a mage, a young woman with long black hair,” he answered, remembering the tiny woman who had stumbled out, a woman who looked like Andraste standing behind her in the Fade before the portal closed.

“Human?”

“Aye.”

“Trevelyan, then,” Abigail answered her own question. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling the Commander will be just fine.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Rylen asked, glancing at her with a brow quirked.

Abigail shrugged. “They’re probably falling in love as we speak,” she told him with a giggle. “It’s - look, I don’t know how to say this and not sound like I’m just - brushing aside whatever it is you’re feeling. But I’m almost positive that you ending up here - I’m sure Thedas is fine. Really.”

“I just - I’m sure things will work out, I was just one man,” he agreed, but he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “But those were my people, Abigail. My family is there, their children, my parents - and I’m not there to protect them.”

“I know,” she said softly, and she continued caressing his arm where she was holding it. “But think about it, you’re - here. Discovering a new land and you’ve - you’ve been a friend to me when I needed one. You’re still doing good, just - not on the scale of saving the world.”

He chuckled a little and shook his head. “Aye, you’re right,” he conceded. “Thank you, Abigail. You still saved my life, and I - I haven’t done anything that comes close to repaying that -”

“Oh please, you’re not like - in my debt forever,” she hurried to assure him. “But I - I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me. I - like having you here.”

Before he could say anything she turned on the sofa and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight as if she meant to comfort him. The feeling of her arms around him immediately made the constricted feeling in his chest change until it didn’t feel like pain. He wrapped his arms around her in turn, holding her tight to him, gladly accepting the comfort she was offering.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner,” she murmured against his ear. “I didn’t know how, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit.”

“It’s all right, Abigail,” he told her. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t deserve me being thrown in your life in the middle of all this other madness.”

She giggled and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “It’s certainly made things interesting,” came her muffled voice. “But like I said, it’s been nice having you here, if not - strange.”

He squeezed her more tightly and rubbed circles on her back with a hand. Having her in his arms - and she wasn’t crying, instead she was saying she was happy he was there, in her life. It made his worries disappear, and he wondered suddenly if he could kiss her, if she would accept him -

Just as he thought it she suddenly pushed herself out of his arms and struggled to bound off the sofa. “Um, it’s getting late, and I didn’t have time to go to the store today, I should - um, that is - I should go grab us some dinner,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair as she looked around as if lost. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He handed her phone back to her, trying to think of something to say, but his mind was a jumble between the wealth of information he had just discovered and the way he had been holding her in his arms. Instead he merely nodded, for once unable to think of anything appropriate to say.

She merely smiled and hurried to grab her purse, and before he knew it she was out the door.

For several moments he sat on the sofa trying to process it all, thinking through everything that had just happened. As a distraction he opened the screen of his phone again and searched out his own page of this ‘internet.’ Once it was open he absently typed in the name Rylen, and waited as the answer was found. He opened a few of the pages, reading through them, and he frowned as he saw just how little information was there.

Russ had been right, it seemed as if he was only a minor character in the story the way it was told here. For a moment he tried to decipher how that made him feel until he realized it was somewhat of a relief. If he was minor enough, hopefully his disappearance wasn’t causing the Inquisition and the Commander any hardships. But again it made him think about how quickly the lass had recognized him, and he kept searching through the answers that came up. It led him to a picture from the game, and he stared for a moment and then began to laugh, and then he frowned.

If that was how he had looked in the game - how had she recognized him so easily? Perhaps it really was just the tattoos, and the accent, since it seemed to stick out here. The armor, too, they had that part right at least, and it was distinctive enough.

But he thought about something else Russ had gotten out of Abigail the day before, and he frowned as he tried to think how best to search it. After a few tries, he managed to find what he was looking for, and his eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he skimmed over the first bit of writing and summaries he found on the page.

 

**_With Love From the Front - by jameson-made-me-do-it._ **

_Major Cullen Rutherford and his Second, Captain Rylen, only signed up to serve the Free Marches and protect the people from the dangers of the Orlesian-Imperium Alliance -_

 

His reading was interrupted when his phone screen changed, and as soon as the nose-scrunching photo of Abigail showed up he realized he was receiving a call. He took a moment before he answered it. “Aye?” he asked tentatively.

“Hey, so I realized I didn’t ask,” she began, and he looked around the room, slightly taken aback by how it sounded like she was in it with him. “Do you want pizza or should I bring home some Chinese? I haven’t introduced you to fried rice and dumplings yet, you might like them.”

“Whatever you feel like, lass,” he told her, trying to remember that he didn’t need to raise his voice.

“I’m feeling Chinese. I could do with some sesame chicken or something. Okay, I’ll bring some home in a bit. Want some beer too? I haven’t really had you try Earth ales at all,” she said.

“Sounds good, Abigail,” he agreed. “Need me to do anything?”

“Make sure the dishes are clean maybe?” she mused. “I’ll be home in like half an hour or so. Call me if you need me!”

She giggled and he chuckled as well. “Aye, I will, but I should be fine.”

“I know, it’s just fun to say now that you can,” she told him. “All right, be home in a bit.”

Before he could say anything further the background noise of the call died off and he pulled the phone away from his ear. The screen said call ended but still showed her picture, and for a moment he stared at it and smiled before the screen went black.

Whatever was happening back in Thedas was out of his control, and while it distressed him to think about his family and what danger they may be in, he thought about what good he had done here already. Somehow thinking about how happy the lass had sounded on the phone, how she had so readily slipped into his arms to give him a hug when she thought he needed one - it made him feel better about the situation.

And the night before, dancing with her in his arms, the way their hips had swayed when they were dancing at the club. Thinking about that helped as well, the root of hope digging deeper in his chest.

He smiled as he swiped the screen of his phone again and began to read the piece she had written. His phone buzzed and a small message at the top showed it was a text from Russ asking for advice after getting a response from Gabriela. Rylen laughed before he opened it to write out a reply.

There was time to speak with Abigail later to ask more questions, time to read more of her writing when she wasn’t around. It could be another way to pass the time when she worked evenings, along with the history book she had given him. A whole world of possibilities was open to him now, and he found himself excited by all the prospects.

In the meantime, he would make certain the dishes were ready for dinner and help Russell with wooing his lass.


	11. Karma's a Bitch and She Went to Harvard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still adding to the playlist I've linked as this goes on - a good song for this chapter is ["Pursuit of Happiness" by Kid Cudi.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elhJeMTsR4c) Just if you're curious. Enjoy! This chapter just sort of flowed, I meant to be working on After Rain and then I wrote this in less than a day so *shrug*. I'm not complaining!

Abby tugged slightly at her blazer, adjusting it over the white scoop neck t-shirt she had under it. She ran her fingers over the delicate chains of her necklaces, making certain they weren’t tangled. All morning she had debated her outfit, contemplating just wearing her trusty leather jacket and worn out jeans. It would have been a bold move, letting the new lawyer she was meeting know how far from high society she really was.

How far she always had been.

But her desire to get free from John, to actually have a chance at winning, had outweighed that temptation. And so instead she was wearing her nicest blazer and slacks, the outfit she had saved for court appearances when she'd sold her designer clothes for a bit of extra cash.

The day that she had visited the thrift store and pawn shop with Rylen suddenly came back to her, and she smiled to herself as she was swept along with the passengers exiting the train. Her walk through the station happened as if on auto-pilot, as she was lost in thought about the night before. The whole evening she had sat beside Rylen and explained his phone, had shown him how to use chopsticks, how to set up his air mattress.

The experience had been so new to her, how he had endearingly listened to every word and asked questions, eager for the answers each time. It was so different from her other interactions with men, how they always thought they knew the answer even if they didn’t, how they wouldn’t listen to her or accept her help. Instead Rylen had attentively sought it out, smiling the whole time, seeming unperturbed when he needed something explained twice or didn’t understand it after the first try.

Respect - when was the last time she’d felt that, really, truly felt that?

Abby continued smiling to herself, trying to blame the way her heart was beating quickly on the way she was weaving through the people on the sidewalk, her nerves due to meeting with a new lawyer. But she wasn’t really certain that those were the main reasons her insides felt fluttery.

_Focus, damn it._

With one deep breath she pushed through the rotating glass doors of the restaurant, smiling at the hostess when she greeted her. “I’m - meeting two people, I -”

“Abby!”

At the call she turned with a sweeping feeling of relief at the familiar voice. One last sudden panic that this had been a joke, that it was going to blow up in her face gripped her. But she saw Connie calmly gesturing for her to join their table with a soft smile on her face. Abby smiled at the hostess and then walked quickly in the direction of her waiting party. A woman’s back was to her, but at her approach the woman glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

A flawlessly tailored suit, classically manicured hands, simple yet elegant jewelry, hair perfectly coiffed - the immediate impression Abby got was that this was a woman who absolutely had her shit together.

“Abby, so good to see you,” Connie greeted. “This is my good friend from Harvard, Jessica Coleman.”

“Abby Henderson,” Abby introduced herself as she accepted the woman’s firm handshake. She cringed slightly though and sighed. “Or I suppose, Abby Baker, technically -”

“Miss Henderson, it’s so nice to meet you,” Jessica interrupted with a reassuring smile.

Abby liked her already.

“Please, take a seat, Abby,” Connie offered.

Abby smiled and took the seat across from Jessica, setting her purse down and placing her hands in her lap. It had been a while now since she had been in this nice of a restaurant, but she easily slipped back into old habits, the very essence of respectability and manners. “I hope you weren’t waiting long,” Abby softly apologized to Connie, but the other woman simply waved a hand dismissively.

“We both arrived early and took the chance to catch up a little,” Connie assured her. “Feel free to order and then we can get down to business, there’s no need to hurry.”

“Did you happen to bring your case files, though?” Jessica asked. “I could look them over while you decide on your lunch.”

“I - of course,” Abby dug in her purse and pulled out the manilla folder that contained everything pertaining to her divorce. She was slightly taken aback by how quickly Jessica seemed certain she was going to take the case, but she handed over the files hoping they would convince her even more if necessary.

“Excellent,” Jessica said as she accepted them. “Connie, I think you’re right, that bottle of pinot grigio did sound like a good idea.”

Connie laughed softly and looked at Abby. “If we ordered one would you partake with us? This is what we used to do, have lunch and split a bottle of wine while we caught up. Before you got here we were talking about old times but couldn’t decide -”

“Of course,” Abby readily agreed with a smile. “That sounds perfect, I could use a drink.”

Connie waved down their waiter and ordered the wine while Abby pored over the menu and Jessica buried herself in the files she had been handed. For a few moments they sat in rather comfortable silence before Connie looked back to Abby. “I’m so glad you could join us so quickly,” she told her with a smile. “When is your next meeting for the divorce?”

“In a few weeks,” Abby answered after she took a sip of water. “But that’s likely not very much time to prepare,” she added, looking to Jessica.

“Well, I already see quite a bit here,” Jessica mused, but she suddenly frowned and glanced up. “What I don’t see is anything about a prenup?”

“Oh, that’s because - we - we didn’t have one,” Abby told her.

Jessica and Connie exchanged a look, and then Jessica laughed softly. “He really was going through a mid-life crisis, you’re right Connie,” she commented casually. “But the good news is, that’s very - _very_ \- good for you, Miss Henderson. We just need to put together our arguments, our plan -”

“Wait you’re - you’ll take the case? Just like that?” Abby interrupted, staring between the two women. “I can’t pay, not your fees, I’m sure -”

“No, but John can,” Jessica pointed out with a wry smile. “And yes, I’d essentially already decided to take the case after speaking with Connie, but seeing these files - I’ll absolutely take the case. Pro-bono, but we’ll request lawyer’s fees, see what the court decides on that. Either way - looks like you have new counsel, if you’ll accept.”

Abby simply stared for a moment and then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I - listen, I’m sorry, I just - have to say this,” she began slowly. “Please tell me this isn’t going to bite me in the ass, that you’re not going to fuck me over as part of some revenge for what I did eight years ago -”

“Abby, I meant what I said,” Connie interjected firmly. “Yes, you wronged me, and yes, for years I was bitter about it. But in the grand scheme of things, you freed me, and I’m more than happy to try to help do the same for you now.”

Abby considered, her lips pursed as she studied the other woman intently. “Just like that? Let bygones be bygones, all is forgiven?”

Connie smirked. “If anything, we’re bound by an _asshole_ who wronged both of us,” she mused with a small shrug. It was more than a little shock, hearing the prim and proper woman curse, and Abby’s eyebrows rose in response.

“Miss Henderson,” Jessica began, leaning forward as well and folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I cannot fully speak for Connie’s motivations, but I can speak for my own, if that will help.”

Abby gestured a hand for her to continue, curious.

Jessica inclined her head in acknowledgment. “As a lawyer, looking over your case files, knowing what you’re up against - I am bothered ethically by what is happening to you. Men - lawyers - like your husband are the reason people call us sharks.”

At the word Abby shifted in her chair and cleared her throat, trying to banish the memories the word brought up, their first meeting, the gifts and teasing she gave him over the years. After blinking away a sudden blur of tears she looked back up at Jessica.

“He is acting detestably to you, making certain you have no assets or resources while you try to leave him. He is using his power and position to keep you from having a chance, and he knows it. He’s doing it intentionally,” Jessica continued. “What kind of a lawyer, and woman, would I be to let him do that to you?”

Abby glanced between the two women, trying to grapple with the multitude of emotions vying for her attention. Warmth, support - genuine support - it was overwhelming, and she leaned forward and rested her forehead in her hand.

“Abby, are you all right?” Connie asked, and Abby felt a hand resting on her forearm, giving her a comforting squeeze.

When she glanced up again she saw both women watching her with concern, and the sight didn’t help her get her emotions under control. A tear trickled down her cheek unbidden, and she quickly wiped at it. But more only followed, and she averted her gaze as she tried to stop the sudden flow.

“I’m - I’m sorry, Miss Henderson, I -”

“No, no, it’s not,” Abby tried to steady her voice, “it’s not you I just - I’ve been handling this on my own. I didn’t expect to get help, especially not from you, and I just - it’s been - harder than I wanted to admit -”

Her voice cracked again and she stopped talking, worried that if she continued she would start crying harder than she already was. Instead she focused on staring down at the table, wiping her cheeks and using her fingers to brush her eyelashes, hoping to keep her mascara from running.

“Abby, you’re not alone,” Connie told her softly, and she squeezed where she held Abby’s arm again. “Not anymore.”

Abby gave a watery laugh. “I just have been, for so long,” she muttered. “I’ve felt alone for five years, ever since my - my mother passed.”

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks, and she reached for her glass of water to take a sip in an attempt to steady herself again. The waiter provided a timely distraction by arriving with their bottle of wine, and Abby let Connie handle the conversation and tasting as she took deep breaths to fight any lingering tears.

The memory of Rylen laying down on the air mattress for the first time brought a sudden smile to her face, recalling how he had laughed and been surprised. The way he had jokingly called it a ‘wind bed’ and asked if it flew. She reached eagerly for the glass of wine that had been placed in front of her, feeling slightly more at ease.

“Well, Miss Henderson,” Jessica began after the waiter had taken their orders. “Why don’t you walk me through what occurred prior to the divorce if you - don’t mind?” At this last part she glanced at Connie and frowned a little.

“I can leave you two to some privacy, if you’d like,” Connie offered, but Abby shook her head, denying the suggestion.

She cleared her throat and took another gulp of wine before she answered. “Over a year ago, I just - happened to check John’s phone for something,” she said, trying again to keep her voice steady. The kind looks in the other two women’s eyes encouraged her, bolstered her, and she felt more confident to continue. “Instead I stumbled across texts he had sent - to his paralegal, I later found out, asking her for nudes.”

“His paralegal?” Jessica asked, raising her eyebrows, the wine glass she was raising to her mouth seemingly forgotten for a moment. “What was the response?”

“She sent them,” Abby told her. She took a moment, trying to push aside the memory so that she could focus.

“What did you do?” Jessica prompted.

“I confronted him,” Abby said with a shrug. “But he - he talked his way out of it. He told me he had been feeling we were drifting apart, that it was a moment of weakness, a - brief infatuation. She’d flirted with him and he’d reciprocated. He said it was a mistake.”

“And you believed him?” Jessica asked, but there was no accusation in her tone. Instead there was just steadiness, simply looking to understand the situation and not place blame anywhere along the path to the truth.

“I did,” Abby admitted softly. “I - after how we had started, I felt like he was telling the truth. Prone to believe he knew it was wrong. He assured me he loved me, and I - felt guilty. He was right, I’d been busy finishing up my novel, reaching out to an editor. We hadn’t been as - intimate - as we had been before because I was caught up in my own pursuits.”

“So what did you both do then?” Jessica asked after a moment.

“Things were tense for a while, I was still upset,” Abby answered. “But I also started trying to put more effort in, thinking that if I tried harder he couldn’t be tempted. I blamed myself for what he’d done, and so I - put aside my novel even though it was almost done. I started working on our marriage full time, trying to keep him happy so that he - so that he wouldn’t be tempted to stray - again.”

Beside her Connie shifted slightly and picked up her glass of wine, taking a deep drink before her eyes met Abby’s. They held one another’s gaze, a quiet moment of perfect understanding passing between them. It was an odd bond of kinship, but Abby felt it in that moment more clearly than she had before, and she suddenly realized how someone like Connie could reach out to help her now despite their past.

“And how long did things continue that way?” Jessica prompted again, after she gave the other two a few moments, as if she knew they needed it.

“Almost a year,” Abby muttered, feeling regret and shame twist her insides. “But then I - I found condoms in his wallet. And I knew.”

“You knew?” Jessica asked.

Abby heaved a sigh and folded her arms, looking away before she answered. “It was - what he did with me,” she said softly, unable to glance aside at Connie. “I recognized it immediately for what it was. It meant I’d been a fool, that it had always been more than just a one time flirtation. That it had continued, even after I confronted him.”

“I see,” Jessica said, again with no inflection in her tone, no surprise or judgment evident. “Did you confront him again?”

“I told him I was leaving him, that I wanted a divorce,” Abby explained. “We had - the _worst_ fight of our entire marriage, entire relationship. I’ll be honest, there was a lot of screaming, a lot of accusations and horrible things said. I might have - thrown a few things at his head. I missed,” she emphasized with a hand as she said it, “but just so you’re aware, that was - not pretty. At all.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Jessica assured her with a smirk. “Did you leave then? With intent to file?”

“I - didn’t have anywhere to go, I left and walked around for a bit, tried to clear my head so that I could decide what to do. Started looking into lawyers while avoiding speaking with John at all. Before I ever got a chance to contact anyone or make concrete plans, he had filed. I got served the papers the very next day.”

“And with that your assets frozen,” Jessica observed. “So it seems it was a punishment, an attempt to back you into a corner. He would have known your finances relied solely on him, and if it happened that quickly he must have called in favors.”

Abby nodded bitterly and took a sip of her wine.

_Let me take care of you, gorgeous._

The words came back to haunt her, the promises he had made, the foolish decisions she had made. She looked across the table at the keen and calculated look in Jessica’s eyes, though, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Well,” Jessica said as she sat forward and flipped through the files in front of her. “Looking through these assets that are listed - the penthouse would be just a tad too hard to go after, since he had it in solely his name before you were married. But without a prenup, you could technically ask for half of everything he made while you were married, any purchases you made -”

“Wait, no, I just want -” Abby began to protest, but Connie reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“Hear her out,” she suggested.

“I understand from Connie that what you’re really looking for is for him to confess to infidelity, and allow that to be listed as the reason for the divorce,” Jessica said. Abby nodded. “In New York that requires a professional, third party to prove it, which in this case will be difficult. I’m assuming he got rid of any evidence you ever found?”

“The next time I’d tried to look for texts or emails, it was clear he’d deleted everything,” Abby acknowledged. “He’d deleted the pictures, even. Or perhaps just moved them, he always had private, hidden folders on his phone and computer for case files.”

Jessica pursed her lips and continued looking over the case files for a moment, as if thinking. “You have more leverage than it appears you realized,” she mused. “He has so far been able to feel he has all the power because you aren’t making enough demands. Requesting the bed, a few joint belongings, and the confession - that’s not enough. And the court won’t take it seriously. But I see - hmm.”

She trailed off and flipped through a few more pages, and then her eyes widened and she glanced up at Abby. With a wide smile she passed over a sheet of paper and pointed one perfect nail at a line. Abby picked up the paper and looked at the asset listed that had caught Jessica’s eye.

“The house in Vermont?” she asked, frowning.

“It was purchased during your marriage, making it a joint property that you have claim to,” Jessica told her. “Our new settlement offer will have far more listed - but that will be the main focus. You need a place to live, after all he left you penniless and practically homeless when he filed. And there’s a house just waiting for you. He gets the penthouse, you get the secluded house in Vermont so that you can return to working on your novel - your true line of work. Not bartending like he’s tried to convince the court.”

Abby’s mind reeled at this proposition. She’d almost forgotten the house existed, since it had been so long since they’d visited the secluded house they had so joyfully bought together. She remembered how excited they had been to buy it, so that she could write to her heart’s content, so that he could sneak her away for weekends alone where they could explore one another at their leisure, undisturbed by the city and its bustle. And her lawyer, Rodney, hadn’t even mentioned the possibility that she could ask for it.

At that thought she suddenly dug in her purse for her phone. “Sorry, I need to,” she gestured her phone and pointed out the front door. “By the way, Jessica - to make it official - thank you for taking my case.”

Jessica shook Abby’s outstretched hand and gave her a bright smile. Abby excused herself from the table and walked out to the sidewalk to make a call. When she opened her phone she saw she had a few texts, and when she saw who they were from she became distracted.

 

**John**

_Gorgeous, we need to talk. A few things have come to my attention that I think we should discuss. In person. Call me, please._

 

Abby rolled her eyes and closed the text so that she could open the string of other texts she had received.

 

**Ry**

_Lass, I hope youre you’re havinf good luck at your linch_

_Lunch. Apologies still getting used ti writing on thus phine. If yiu need me call. Now that you can, thst offer goes both ways. See you this eveninf. Ry._

 

A smile slowly spread across her face as she read the texts, giggling slightly at the endearing typos. He had been a fast learner, but she could picture him hunched over the phone trying to type out the messages with his large fingers and struggling as he had the night before. The memories it conjured made her heart swell, and she chewed her lip for a moment as she reread the messages.

 

_Thank you, Ry. So far so good, lunch is going great. See you tonight after work!_

 

She ended the message with a smiling emoji and hit send before she pulled open her contacts. When she found the right number she dialed and looked up and down the street as she listened to it ringing.

“Rodney Johnson speaking,” the slow drawl greeted her.

“Rodney, it’s Abby Hend - Abby Baker,” she answered.

“Ah, Mrs. Baker, how can I help you today? I don’t have anything new for you -”

“That’s fine, Rodney, don’t worry about it,” she interrupted his glacial speech, smiling to herself. “I was just calling to tell you - you’re fired.”

“I - what?” he said quickly.

“Your services are no longer required, I’ve found new counsel,” she explained.

“I - Mrs. Baker, you still owe me fifteen hundred dollars beyond the retainer -”

“I’ll mail you a check,” she replied nonchalantly. “Have a good day, Rodney.”

With that she hung up and smiled to herself again, tapping her phone against her chin for a moment as she thought.

Suddenly things were looking up.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for lunch,” Abby said to Connie, smiling brightly.

“Of course,” Connie agreed, leaning back so that their plates could be cleared. “It was my pleasure.”

Jessica had left a few minutes before, rushing to get back to the office for a client meeting. She and Abby had spent the rest of lunch discussing their plans, and had arranged to meet at least once before the next settlement meeting. Now Connie and Abby sat sipping the last bit of wine as they waited for the check, which Connie had insisted was on her.

Abby gave a wry smile over her glass of wine and looked at Connie. “Admit it, a little bit of you is enjoying the chance to see John lose.”

Connie smirked and set her wine glass down. “I suppose a small part of me, yes,” she conceded. “It’s a long time coming, for a lot of reasons. And trust me when I say if anyone has a chance of doing it, it’s Jessica.”

“She’s more capable than I’d even imagined after you suggested we meet,” Abby confessed. “I - have way more hope than I thought possible.”

“I’m glad,” Connie said.

“I’m still worried about things, just - less so than I have been in, shit, months?” Abby sat back in her chair and folded her arms as she thought. “Things have been rough for so long. Now I’m just worried about how he’ll try to fuck me over, still. I mean he paid for my Master’s degree while we were married, he paid for my mother’s treatments and her - end of life care. I worry what he might try.”

Connie shook her head and gestured a hand emphatically. “Those were things he did as your spouse, decisions you made together. He can’t take either of those things from you, and it would be low of him to even suggest it,” she assured her. “Don’t worry about any of that. Jessica will come up with a settlement agreement for you, with your best interests in mind. For now focus on taking care of yourself. You’ll be free of him, time to focus on your future.”

Abby gave her a weak smile and nodded, lost in contemplation of her advice.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Connie said suddenly. “I - hadn’t ever really heard much about what happened, all things considered. But I do remember people talking about John’s new mother-in-law passing. How long was she ill?”

“For almost four years,” Abby answered softly.

“Cancer?” Connie prompted.

“Colon cancer that spread before they found it,” Abby told her, and she cleared her throat. “It was a long four years, in and out of the hospital, surgeries, chemo, radiation. But in the end it had reached her pancreas and it - well. That’s a hard one to beat.”

Connie nodded, a sudden gleam in her eye. “Yes, it is,” she said. “You know, I actually - one of the non-profits I work with is for pancreatic cancer research.”

“I - really?” Abby raised her eyebrows, trying to focus on the revelation and not the sudden melancholy she wanted to lose herself in. Throughout all of this, all she had wanted was her mother’s guidance - but she’d ignored it years before, and now she would never receive any ever again.

“Yes, in fact - we’re holding a gala fundraiser at the end of the summer,” Connie told her. “Why don’t you come?”

“I don’t have the thousands it would take to pay for a ticket, like I’m sure it would cost -” Abby protested.

“I have space for a guest of honor remaining,” Connie interrupted with a smile. “And considering you lost someone to the disease, it could go to you. What do you say? Come have a night out, bring a friend or a date, do something for a good cause. It can be something to look forward to.”

“Mingling with the same people the man I’m divorcing does, the people I used to?” Abby mused sardonically, unable to resist pointing it out.

Connie shrugged and a mischievous gleam came into her eyes. “Think of it as a chance to show them all how well you’re doing,” she suggested. “I think it would be good for you. I can get you two tickets, just get yourself a dress and someone to come with you, and have a nice night out.”

Abby considered for a moment, mulling it over as she chewed her lip. “All right,” she finally agreed. “You’re right, why not? And I am passionate about the cause, I used to donate to different charities for it. I wouldn’t mind showing up to support you for it.”

“Excellent,” Connie said, a bright grin crinkling the corners of her pale blue eyes. The waitress returned with the checkbook for Connie, and she politely thanked her as she took it to sign. “Listen, I’m actually happy we can be civil and - friendly. I hope that it continues, you’re -” she paused as if thinking while she put away her wallet. “You’re a strong woman, Abby, and I look forward to getting to know you better. If you need anything, please - feel free to call me.”

Abby’s eyebrows rose and for a moment she stared at Connie. But the other woman shouldered her purse and pushed back her chair, standing from the table. Abby mimicked the action and held out a hand. “You know what, Connie,” she said slowly, “same. I’m really, _really_ glad we ran into each other. I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you’ve done for me.”

Connie smiled as she released Abby’s hand and began to lead the way out of the restaurant. “I’m happy to do it, and glad that you were big enough to accept my help,” she said. “I hope this all works out. In the meantime, I’ll speak with you soon. We should do lunch again sometime - without conducting business, just a chance to chat.”

“You know, strangely I think I’d like that,” Abby told her honestly. “I - focused so much of my time on John, especially this last year, I - lost touch with my friends. And then with the divorce it sort of became clear they - weren’t really my friends, at least not enough to stick around. So I’d - I think I’d like to be friends.”

“Friends,” Connie agreed. “Well, I should get back to the office. Have a good day, Abby.”

“You too, Connie,” Abby said, and they parted ways with one last smile.

The whole way back to the subway Abby found herself lost in thought, torn between hope and anxiety at what could happen now. Once she boarded the train she pulled her phone out, intent to browse and take her mind off things. When she saw the message notifications she felt her heart flutter and eagerly opened the texts.

 

**Ry**

_Aye, I’ll ser yoi thrn las_

_Thus writinf will be the deatg of mr_

_I serm to need more practicre. SOrry, Abigaul. Ry._

 

Following the string of messages was one that was made up entirely of emojis, both a combination of smiling and laughing faces as well as a few hearts and others. It was incomprehensible, and Abby frowned at it for a moment, wondering what to make of it. She didn’t have any service on the subway, though, and so she couldn’t return his text and ask what he had meant.

But she giggled softly to herself, and when she checked her phone’s clock saw that she had a bit of time to swing by his work site - it was on the way back to the apartment, after all.

With that thought she let her mind wander again, zoning out and thinking through the day until the subway reached her stop. She exited quickly and hurried through the station, and once she reached the street above her phone vibrated in her hand again.

 

**Ry**

_Lass, apologies. I asked Russ hiw you sent thst small yelliw face and he wss showing me. I promise Ill grt better at this eventuallu. Ry._

 

The message made her smile again. She pocketed her phone and continued along the street in the direction of the construction site. After a few minutes she reached it and slowed, looking over the progress as she tried to spot Rylen.

When she spotted him her jaw dropped, staring at the sight of him swinging a large sledgehammer before he raised it to repeat the motion. It took her a moment to shake herself slightly and try to drag her eyes away from the way his arms were bulging with the action, the way she could hear the sound of the sledgehammer making contact with its target even from here. The recollection of their tight embrace the night before when she comforted him, the memory of dancing in his arms the night before that both came back to her in sudden vivid detail.

“Miss?”

“Hm?” she jumped at the raised voice, turning to look at the man who had approached the chain fence.

“I asked if you needed something,” he asked, voice raised over the sound of the machines working behind him.

“Oh, I just - um, I was going to see if Rylen had a minute,” she told him, raising her voice as well. “It’s fine though, he looks busy -”

The man missed the last bit, turning away from her to cup a hand to his mouth. “Hey Scottie, got a visitor!”

Rylen glanced up at the shout, but the confused look on his face disappeared the instant he saw Abby standing at the fence. He leaned the sledgehammer against a nearby support beam and began to make his way over. As he approached he took his hard hat off and ran his hand through his hair, and he smirked when he reached them.

“Eh, lass, need something?” Rylen asked, giving a nod to the other man as he walked away before turning piercing eyes on Abby.

For a moment she simply stared, suddenly more flustered than normal. She wanted to blame the wine she’d had at lunch, but she’d only had one glass and it took far more than that before she made a fool of herself.

“Oh, I just - was passing by, thought I’d say hi before work,” she finally rushed to say, and she felt her cheeks heat.

Rylen gave a lazy grin and leaned a hand on the fence. “Aye, I’m glad you did,” he told her. “How was your lunch? Any news?”

“Plenty,” she answered. “I have a new lawyer - for free, and she’s far, far better than the one I had. I’m really optimistic.”

Rylen’s grin only widened and he took a moment to let his eyes wander over her face as if drinking in the sight of her smile before he replied. “That’s good news,” he agreed. “It’s about damned time something went your way.”

She giggled and instinctively stepped closer to the fence. “Yeah, I’m really stunned things did go my way, but - fuck I’m really happy about it,” she confided. It felt natural, confiding in him, and she no longer wondered at how eager she had been to see him to tell him what had happened. His smile, his encouragement, his concern were all making it finally feel real to her.

“You look like it,” he pointed out. “Are you working tonight, lass?”

“Yeah, I need to go home and change first,” she said, suddenly irritated thinking about how she needed to go. “Hopefully we’ll be busy tonight, I need to pay the lawyer I replaced today for the ‘work,’” she sarcastically emphasized the word with her fingers, “he did for me.”

“How much?” Rylen asked, frowning slightly.

“Fifteen hundred - wait no, don’t get that look on your face,” she accused, pointing at him.

“What look?” he feigned innocence, gesturing a hand as if at a loss.

“That ‘how can I help her out’ look,” Abby explained with a laugh. “It’s fine, it won’t take long for me to make that up. But I can do it on my own, okay?”

Rylen chuckled and ran his hand down his face, rubbing at the light layer of stubble on his jaw. “Aye, you got me, lass,” he confessed. “I’ll let you handle it, but if you need me to -”

“No, I’ve got it,” she insisted. “Anyway, I’ve kept you long enough, just - wanted to say hi.”

_Because somehow, I missed you._

The thought flitted across her mind, catching her by surprise, and she folded her arms as she frowned.

“Hi,” he said, pulling her out of her sudden confused musings, and when she glanced up at him he winked at her.

_That’s not helping._

Abby cleared her throat and looked away. “Anyway, yeah I should - get to work. See you - see you later.”

She managed to give him a quick smile and wave of farewell before she turned to hurry along the sidewalk towards their apartment.

“Hi Abby!” a voice rang out, and she glanced to the side to see Russ waving his arm over his head at her. She returned the wave less energetically, and her gaze was drawn to the tall form approaching Russ, noticing how Rylen stopped beside the young man with his hands on his hips.

He was casually watching her leave as he said something to his friend, something she could only assume was about her.

She turned quickly and hurried on her way, trying to discern the way her heart was racing and her stomach fluttering. She was just happy about how everything had gone, happy to have friends and support, his included. That was all it was.

Wasn’t it?


	12. You, Soft and Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say - the fic that Abby "wrote" is entirely something I'm coming up with as I go, and if it does happen to resemble a fic on here (or her username, though I searched for it before I chose it) I had no idea.
> 
> Although also if a fic like that exists point me to it because I'd love to check it out. Which would also help me resist the urge to write it...
> 
> _Whispers to self - you don't need another WIP_
> 
>  
> 
> If you want some mood music for this chapter (also, what Abby is listening to) - ["Jackie and Wilson" by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKhYsp3uyGk).

_It was in these quiet moments that he had time to miss her, the moments when he wasn’t fighting for his life and the lives of those around him. Lying on his back, hand resting on his uniformed chest as he stared up at the canvas tent, he was keenly aware of the absence of her._

_She always curled herself against him, hand resting over his heart, cheek on his shoulder. Tucked into his arms like that, it felt as if she belonged, as if she had been made just for him; the perfect fit. The smell of vanilla and lovemaking hung around them in those moments, the heat of her skin on his warming him down to his very soul._

_He could imagine the scent of her so strongly for a moment he closed his eyes, letting the dirty, cold surroundings fade away into his recollections._

_“Come back to me,” she’d whispered, her dark eyes glistening with tears he knew she was holding back. Even now, in this, she wouldn’t let him see her cry._

_“I promise, Lily,” he murmured, sliding his hand into her golden brown hair as he rolled on top of her. “Nothing could keep me from you - marriage and wee ones, that was the deal, right, lass?”_

_She had giggled then and kissed him fiercely, even though he could tell she was biting back her fear, hiding her bitterness that he was leaving. He had assured her the only way he ever knew how, when words failed him. Her legs had wrapped tight around his, arms holding him to her as he moved between her thighs, trying to drive her to new heights so that he could hear the soft sounds she always made. The memories of them would be all he had the many cold months he’d be away, fighting for his country._

_“I love you, Ry,” she whispered between fevered kisses, breathless as she rocked her hips against his._

_“Aye, lass - I know -_

“Hey, Rylen!”

Rylen glanced up from the phone in his hand, chewing the bit of hot dog he had just taken a bite of. Russell was walking across the work site with a wide smile on his face. He glanced back toward the fence and waved at the woman behind him before she began to walk away. When he reached Rylen he took a seat next to him on the steel beam.

“How’s Gabriela?” Rylen asked before he took another bite of his hot dog.

“She’s good, good,” Russ answered. “I - I didn’t kiss her because the guys were hanging around the fence but - I’ll see her later tonight.”

Rylen gave a noncommittal grunt and nodded, staring back at the screen of his phone, the words he had been absorbed in. For nearly three weeks now Russell had been taking the short lunch break they had to see Gabriela, since their first date and the ones that had followed had gone well. It gave Rylen the time he’d needed to read, though, and he found himself absorbed in reading about this game called Inquisition, Earth’s history - and Abigail’s story about him.

“What part are you at?” Russ asked, leaning over to look at Rylen’s phone.

“He’s - I’m? - reminiscing about Lily, since the night on the front lines has been quiet so far,” Rylen answered. He took another thoughtful bite of his lunch, chewing as he considered. The descriptions of this Lily character as this written version of him thought of her had him curious. “I - I’ve noticed some things.”

“Like what? More questions?” Russ asked almost absently. He was still eager to answer any questions Rylen had, but sometimes the lad was more than a little distracted after seeing Gabriela.

With a smirk Rylen decided he couldn’t really blame him. “The lass, Lily - she reminds me of Abigail.”

“Really?” Russ turned a surprised look to Rylen, finally fully focused on the conversation. “I don’t know her well enough, I guess I never thought - you think it’s a self-insert?”

“A what, lad?” Rylen frowned, asking around the last bite of his hot dog.

“That the character is basically her,” Russ explained. “Like she wrote herself into the story.”

Rylen pursed his lips and stared at his screen again, thinking. That was exactly what he had been wondering, from the memories ‘he’ kept having in the story. Dark eyes, tiny but stubborn and strong, and she smelled of vanilla - this Lily had reminded him a great deal of Abigail the entire time he’d been reading. And the way she acted about the ‘him’ in the tale, the way she loved him so fiercely, the way she called him -

“She calls me ‘Ry,’” he told Russell suddenly.

“In the fic? Oh yeah, that’s her nickname -” the lad began, waving a hand slightly dismissively.

“No, Russ, I mean - Abigail calls me Ry,” he muttered. He glanced aside at the other man’s silence, and noticed the height of Russ’ eyebrows as he stared at him. “No one else really calls me that, except my family when I was growing up. No other lass ever has, but she - she just does it naturally. And now I see in this - this tale she wrote, where this lass like her loves ‘me’ so much, she uses the nickname.”

“Oh man, you think - I mean, I’ve seen you two together, there’s definitely something there,” Russ pointed out with an eager look on his face. “Maybe she already liked you when you got here -”

“I can’t think like that, mate,” Rylen interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s too complicated, I need to just focus on friendship -”

“What happened to the advice you gave me, huh?” Russ demanded. “Thanks to you, I’m dating my dream girl, and we,” he lowered his voice and glanced around before he continued, “thanks to your advice we got to third base. Maybe it’s time you listened to your own advice, man!”

Rylen chuckled softly and wiped his hand on his pants. “We’ll see, Russ,” he said. “The lass needs time, she’s still going through a lot.”

They fell silent for a moment, Rylen pocketing his phone as he thought hard about the things he was discovering through reading Abigail’s writing. She was a romantic, that was now firmly established in his mind, but she had also written an interpretation of him that mirrored that tender romance - as if it was something she desired or had been missing. He pushed the thoughts aside, denying the way his mind began coming up with scenarios where he could declare his desires and deep regard that he felt for her.

As a distraction he tried to focus on what Russell had said, and he turned a curious frown to the young lad. “What did you mean - thanks to my advice you ‘got to third base?’” he asked.

“Oh that’s right, you wouldn’t know - it’s a euphemism for how far you’ve gotten with someone, based off a sport that’s pretty popular here called ‘baseball,’” Russ explained.

“So what is it a euphemism for?” Rylen prompted.

“I - well, I - sorry, it’s just we say it because then we don’t have to go into detail,” Russ muttered, and he flushed. “I - I made her - you know, with my hand?” As he said it he gestured lower toward his crotch and crooked his fingers slightly.

Rylen raised an eyebrow and then let out a few barks of laughter, clapping Russ on the shoulder as he did. “Aye, glad things are going well, lad,” he told him.

“Really well,” Russ agreed. “In fact tonight she kind of asked - I mean she invited me over for dinner, said we’d watch a movie. I’m thinking - I think tonight’s the night, the way she said it - I think I’m getting laid tonight.”

Rylen swallowed, burying the unwanted and minuscule twinge of envy that he felt. Instead he chuckled and nodded, but made no comment.

“Actually I was - I was thinking I could ask your advice…”

Rylen simply nodded, resisting the sigh he wanted to let out as he gestured for Russ to lead the way to where they had been working together before the lunch break. He listened as Russ shared his hesitations, his worries that he wouldn’t be any good since it had been a while, and gave him the same honest advice he had always given any other friend who had ever asked. The rest of the work day passed like this, listening to Russ talk about Gabriela while he thought about Abigail, doling out advice and asking more about this sport Russ had mentioned. His mind wandered the entire time, thinking about her story, about the revelations it was bringing, thinking of the hope blossoming in response to it all.

Before he knew it they were wrapping up their work, intending to set out and head home when he heard a voice shouting across the site. “Hey - MacCallum, when you got a minute!”

He glanced up to see Hank waving his clipboard at him, gesturing it to encourage him over to speak with him. Rylen cast a curious frown to Russ before he walked toward the boss, trying to decipher why he’d want a word with him.

“Here, let’s talk in the office,” Hank greeted him when Rylen reached where he waited. He led the way into the small white building that served as an office, and Rylen removed his hard hat and ran his hand through his hair as he followed.

“What’s the problem?” Rylen asked, taking the seat Hank motioned to across the small desk from him.

“Prob - oh no, no problem,” Hank assured him with a laugh. He tugged at the orange vest on his chest and shifted in the chair. “Sorry, I’m sure I had you worried, end of the day talk and all that. No, no - nothing wrong. Just wanted to give you some good news, actually - and make you an offer.”

Rylen raised an eyebrow at the other man, resting his hard hat on his knee. “An offer?”

“We have a supervisor position open, as I’m sure you know since Nick left. And I know it’s complicated, what with your - situation,” Hank began with a casual wave of his hand. “But you’ve definitely proven yourself to be a hard worker, and you’re a natural leader. The guys all listen to you, they seem to look up to you. I know you haven’t been with us long, but - I’d like to offer you the position. If you’d like it.”

“You want to - you’re promoting me?” Rylen asked, staring for a moment before he dragged his hand down his chin as he thought.

“You’re well suited to the position,” Hank reiterated. “It comes with a bit more work, overseeing a bit of the site, helping me out, coordinating a bit, but some of those things you’ve already been doing. But the position would mean doing those things and making an extra five bucks an hour, so - what do you say?”

Rylen did the math quickly, his eyebrows raising high on his forehead - it only took him a breath of a moment to smile and nod. “Aye, sounds like a deal.”

“Great!” Hank said, a wide grin breaking out on his face as he held his hands out to his sides. “For some reason I worried I’d have to convince you - supervisor isn’t always a glamorous job. But that’s good - good, good, I’ll make certain the pay gets changed. Tomorrow we’ll get started training you up on what you need to know that you don’t already but otherwise - I mean enjoy your evening. Go celebrate.”

Hank stood as he chuckled, holding a hand out for Rylen to shake. He pushed himself to his feet and accepted, gripping it firmly before he released it. “Thank you, Hank - I’m not sure I can express how much you taking a chance on me has meant.”

“Oh, it’s nothing - I’m glad it’s worked out so well,” Hank said. “See you tomorrow, MacCallum.”

“Aye, tomorrow,” Rylen agreed, and he inclined his head in farewell before he turned to leave the office.

Outside he found Russ waiting anxiously for him, bouncing on his toes slightly as he looked around. When he spotted Rylen he hurried forward. “Everything all right?”

“Aye, in fact - I just got promoted,” Rylen answered.

“Wow that’s great!” Russ stammered. “I was worried maybe - that’s awesome. You deserve it.”

“Don’t you have a big date tonight, lad?” Rylen teased.

“Oh, yeah, I just - wanted to make certain you weren’t getting fired or something,” Russ muttered. “I should go shower and get ready, you’re right - hey are you around tonight? In case I need to text you?”

“Aye, just spending time with Abigail,” Rylen told him. “You’ll be fine though, Russ. Your lass cares about you, just remember that - and everything will go smoothly.”

Russell nodded rapidly, but he was still clearly nervous. “Yeah, you’re - I hope you’re right. Anyway, I’ll - I’ll talk to you later. And congratulations, man.”

“Thank you, lad,” Rylen agreed, clapping him on the shoulder before they parted ways. He made his way the short distance to their building, smiling to himself and thinking of the news he had to tell Abigail.

When he reached their door he stopped and listened for a moment, realizing he heard music coming from the other side. It was her night off, but he had almost expected to come home to her reading on her phone as always. Instead, he could hear her singing along to something, but she almost sounded - cheerful.

He put his key in the door and opened it eagerly, hopeful at the sound of her singing.

“ _She’s gonna save me call me baby, run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily, but yet she wouldn’t care,_ ” Abigail sang. “ _We’ll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride round pickin’ up clues. We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise ‘em on rhythm and blues_.”

Rylen stopped in the doorway, watching her in awe. She was dancing in front of the stove as she sang, stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon. The smell that greeted him was pungent but mouth-watering, and something in it tugged at his memories, reminding him of a dish his mother used to make.

He closed the door behind him, and the sound finally made Abigail glance over her shoulder. A bright smile came across her face when she saw him, and she looked back down and raised the wooden spoon from the pot. A thick red sauce coated it, and she lifted it to blow on in an attempt to cool it.

“Come here, I need a taste tester,” she greeted him. She placed a hand under the spoon as she turned back to face him, taking a few steps to meet him halfway as he approached her. “It’s hot, be careful.”

Rylen parted his lips and let her guide the spoon between them, closing them to slurp up the offered sauce. It was hot, she was right, but also incredibly flavorful, and he realized it was tomato, onion, garlic, and several other flavors he couldn’t pinpoint. He licked his lips and glanced down at Abigail, noticing the eager, apprehensive way she was watching him as she waited for his approval. With a soft hum of appreciation and a slight frown he finally spoke. “That’s tasty, lass - what is it?”

“Spaghetti sauce,” she told him, her smile brightening even more at his praise. “It’s my grandmother’s old recipe, I’ve been working on it all afternoon. Do you like it?”

“Aye, I do,” he assured her. “Reminds me a bit of something my ma used to make when I was a wee lad.”

“Ooo, even better,” Abigail said with a giggle. “I was hoping - you don’t have plans with Russ or anything tonight, do you? I bought us a bottle of wine and made meatballs too, I was thinking maybe you wanted to - to have dinner with me?”

“Of course, lass, I’d love to,” he agreed. But he frowned a little as he watched her return to the stove to take up stirring the sauce again. “What’s the occasion?”

“I - it’s weird, you’ll - I don’t know if you’ll get it,” she muttered, bending over the pot slightly to smell it, avoiding his gaze as she did so.

“Try me,” he prompted her, taking a seat on one of the stools.

“It’s - it’s an anniversary,” she told him. “Kind of a morbid one, if you think about it, but, um - well at this point it’s tradition.”

“And what’s the anniversary, lass?” he asked, and his heart twisted slightly as he wondered if it had something to do with her husband.

“It’s - it’s been five years today since my mother passed,” she explained softly, shooting a timid glance over her shoulder. “We used to cook together when she had time, and I - every year since she passed I’ve made something and - celebrated. It’s weird, totally weird, I just - I feel weirder if I don’t do something, even just making a dinner -”

“It’s not ‘weird,’ Abigail,” he assured her, the painful tightness in his chest disappearing at her explanation. “You want to honor her memory, it makes sense. It’s - I think it’s sweet.”

“Thanks,” she murmured with another quick look over her shoulder. “The wine’s on the cart there - it’s a screw top so if you wanna open it and pour us some glasses that’d be nice.”

“Of course,” he agreed, picking up the bottle and twisting the top off before he sought out the two stemless wine glasses she had brought home for them one day. He poured them both an ample amount before he closed the bottle again, setting it aside so that he could hand her glass to her. “Here you go, lass.”

She giggled as she accepted it, but she paused when he held his out as if in a toast. “What?”

“What was your mother’s name?” he asked.

“Jacqueline,” she answered with a slight frown.

“To Jacqueline,” Rylen murmured, gesturing slightly with the glass in his hand.

A soft look came into Abigail’s eyes and she blinked rapidly a few times before she tapped her glass to his. “To Mom,” she said quietly.

They each took a sip in silence before setting their glasses aside. “What can I do to help, Abigail?”

She cleared her throat as if shaking off some deeper emotion and began to give him instructions, directing him as they served themselves some long, thin pasta, the balls of meat she had mentioned, and hefty portions of the sauce to top it all off.

“This looks excellent, lass, thank you for - for including me, and making something so delicious,” he told her as they took their places on the stools as they usually did.

“Yeah, of course,” she agreed softly. “I - I’m happy you’re here to join me.”

As soon as she said it she flushed, and quickly picked up her glass of wine to take a large gulp. He chuckled and spun his fork in the noodles, eager to get another taste of the sauce as he decided to let her admission pass without comment. But his mouth continued to tug up into a smile at the words, at the way she seemed so flustered. She reached over to where her phone lay on the cart and turned off the music before she glanced his way.

“So - how was work?” she asked, as if she was attempting to move on from the last thing she had said.

“Really good, actually,” he told her, suddenly remembering the news he had to share with her. “I got a promotion, I’ll be supervising some now as well. It’s five more cash an hour.”

“Dollars,” she corrected softly, but her eyes widened as she took a sip of her wine. “Fifteen an hour? Jesus, Ry, that’s - that’s so great, I’m really happy for you. A promotion already, that’s impressive.”

“Thank you, lass,” he said with a wide smile. “I was surprised, I didn’t expect - well. I’m happy, all the same.”

“Why wouldn’t you expect it? You’re a hard worker, I’m glad they’ve recognized that,” she commented as she twirled more pasta onto her fork and took a bite. “I mean after all you were a Knight-Captain, in charge of other Templars, second-in-command -”

Rylen chuckled and shook his head. “Aye, but they don’t know that,” he muttered. “Anyway, it’s - it’s something to do.”

“Well I’m proud of you,” she told him, emphasizing the words and smiling when he glanced her way.

He looked back down at his dinner before he reached for his wine, taking a sip as he tried to resist the urge to say anything he shouldn’t. A change of subject was likely best. “So, lass - I - I realize I only know a little about your mother,” he began, and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or bring up old wounds, but he was curious to learn more. “What was she like?”

A sad smile tugged at her lips before she answered, staring at her spaghetti. “She was - wonderful,” she answered softly. “Strong, just - totally sure of herself. Life had dealt her a shitty hand, but she still went all in. Oh, shit - poker metaphor. Um - nothing got her down. I mean my dad died, and they’d had so little time together, but she never - she never wallowed in it, or let it get her down for too long.”

Rylen swallowed the bite he had been chewing and looked her way, noticing the tender gleam in her eyes. “She had to have been strong, to raise a feisty lass like you,” he commented.

Abigail giggled and shook her head. “She used to say she wondered if I didn’t somehow channel Dad’s spirit - apparently he was the same impulsive, wild, headstrong kind of person I am. She’d just look at me sometimes when I was being difficult, but instead of getting angry she would just laugh and say, ‘thanks, Michael, I forget sometimes whose daughter she is.’”

At this she laughed harder, looking over at him when he joined her. “Were you two all each other had?”

She nodded, slurping a thin noodle between her lips before she answered. “Yeah - mom and dad both came from small families. Mom was an only child, dad’s only brother died when he was a teen. Grandparents passed when I was really young. Just - a ton of bad luck, really,” she said with a sigh. “When she got sick when I was nineteen it was like - of fucking course, know what I mean?”

“That must have been hard, lass,” he commented. “I can only imagine.”

“Oh yeah, your family - were your - your parents are still alive, aren’t they?” she asked, grimacing slightly as if she worried she was going to upset him.

“Aye, they are,” he told her simply. “Three sisters and a brother, too. More nieces and nephews than I could count, more cousins than I even knew. It was overwhelming at times.”

“I bet,” Abigail agreed. “I can only imagine _that_. I’ve gotten so used to - not really having anyone. It’s gotten easy to just - forget there could be anyone else out there I could rely on.”

“It’s made you strong,” he pointed out. “That’s not a bad thing, lass. Besides, you’re not alone anymore.”

She caught his eye and smiled at his words, biting her lower lip as she glanced down at her empty bowl. “I - listen, I’m - I’m really sorry that you’re not with your family, anymore,” she told him softly. When she turned to face him she looked hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to approach this. “I’m sure it has to be tough -”

Rylen shook his head and picked up his glass, swirling the dark red liquid for a moment as he thought. “It’s - not as bad as you’d think, really. Life in the Templars, I - I hardly saw them as is, I hadn’t seen them in well over a year since I went to Kirkwall to aid the city,” he explained. “I miss them, sure - but I'm used to missing them at this point. Now it’s just - a wee bit more - bittersweet. They all have families though. They’re fine.”

“And you are?” she asked, reaching with a hand to rest on his wrist where it lay beside his plate.

“Aye, lass,” he assured her with a grin. “I’m fine, I promise.”

She pursed her lips and seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded and squeezed his wrist before she let go. Melancholy was settling over her, he could tell, and he resolved himself to stop it from fully taking hold. She had been so bubbly, so cheerful when he came home. “So, Abigail, do you have pictures of your parents? After all if we’re celebrating your mother I feel like - I should at least know who I’m saluting.”

She shook her head and reached for the bottle of wine to top them off. “No, the pictures are all at the penthouse. I haven’t taken the time to go get the more sentimental stuff I own,” she sighed. “Oh, but I do have - hang on.”

Setting the bottle of wine down she hopped to her feet and circled around the cart to stand before the kitchen counters. She braced her hands on the small stretch of countertop by the sink, lifting herself and swinging first one knee and then the other onto the hard surface. Taking a moment to straighten and steady how she was kneeling, she pushed herself to her feet so that she stood and could almost see over the cabinets that were mounted above the counter.

“Lass - be careful,” he chided, pushing himself to his feet as he watched her anxiously.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she told him. She stood on her tiptoes and strained to reach the top of the cabinets, and she grabbed two rectangles of cloth stretched taut over wooden frames. It took him a moment to realize they seemed to be easels, but he couldn’t see what was on the front of them.

As she pulled them off the cabinets she swayed a little, and his heart lurched as he watched her, suddenly scared she could fall. “Lass - allow me -” he insisted, hurrying forward and wrapping his arms around her legs. She scoffed slightly and began to say she was fine, but he didn’t wait to hear her assurances. Instead he pulled her off the counters and into his arms, holding her tightly as he swung her away from the precarious position she had been in. He spun her until he could place her securely on the floor, and as he set her down he held her gaze, acutely aware of the feeling of her body sliding down his until her feet rested on the floor.

“Thanks,” she murmured, but she giggled. “I was fine, you know, but -”

“Aye, just - let me take care of you occasionally, eh lass?” he chided softly. “I worry about you.”

“You - worry?” she repeated. Her dark eyes met his, a slight twinkle in their depths. “I wish you wouldn’t, I’m fine. Besides, I just wanted to show you -” She moved to the cart and laid the easels out so that he could see them.

“Paintings?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he stepped forward to inspect them. One was almost certainly a sunset, the other a seemingly unfinished work of the ocean, with some sort of animal in the middle of it. “I - what’s that, lass?”

“A narwhal,” she told him wistfully, reaching out to drag a finger along the line of its singular horn. “They’re these absolutely adorable whales who have these big horns - like the unicorns of the sea.”

Rylen nodded for a moment, watching as her finger continued to trace along the painting. “Who made these?”

“My dad,” she answered softly. “This one he painted for my mom for their wedding, and this - this he started when he found out they were expecting me. It’s not done, since he - well. It’s still beautiful, though.”

“Aye, it is," Rylen agreed. “I can tell he was excited, look at the lines - the colors there, he was - he certainly put a lot of passion into it.”

“Do you - do you like art, Knight-Captain?” she teased softly, nudging him with her elbow. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Of course I appreciate art, lass,” he protested. “It’s an important part of life, expression, emotion - why is that so surprising?” The last part came across as a scolding as he frowned down at her, marveling at the way she was giggling with a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you - it’s just unexpected,” she explained. “You seem a bit - straightforward for whimsical art of sea unicorns and sunsets.”

“I’m full of surprises, lass,” he told her with a wink. He looked back down at the paintings, studying the colors and lines of the one that had been made for her mother. “Why have you had these hidden, though? They deserve more than collecting dust up on top of cabinets.”

“I - I guess - I’m not sure, really,” she answered slowly. “When I left I literally packed a suitcase and grabbed these, but - the idea of hanging them in this shitty apartment. I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to make this place seem - like a home, at the time.”

Rylen nodded as he stared at the paintings for a moment, and then he glanced sidelong at her. “We should hang them, though,” he suggested softly. “After all, it’s your mother’s memorial, and they clearly mean a great deal to you - it seems a fitting tribute.”

Abigail raised her eyes to his, and they almost looked like they were sparkling slightly in the light. After a moment she nodded her head. “You’re right, it - it is,” she agreed. “I don’t have a hammer -”

“Don’t worry, lass,” he assured her. He crossed to the small box he had acquired for work, tucked into a corner beside the dresser they had finally added to the apartment. He found a hammer and two nails, and turned back to gesture at the paintings. “Tell me where.”

The tender smile she gave him took his breath away, but then she quickly picked up the paintings and walked to the stretch of white wall across from the sofa. She walked carefully around the air bed that lay before the sofa, her lips pursed as she examined the walls.

“What about like this?” she asked, holding the paintings out to position them side by side in the middle of the bare wall.

“Aye, if that’s what you want,” he agreed. He stepped forward and eyeballed the places for the nails, taking care that they were even with one another and spaced correctly. When he had finished tapping both nails into the wall he stepped back, hands on his hips. “How’s that, lass?”

“Let’s see,” she said, giggling as she placed first one and then the other painting on the nails. She took a few steps back from the wall, admiring the paintings and checking his work. “They look perfect.”

“I agree,” he told her, looking to the side and smiling at the sight of her beside him.

She folded her arms, staring at the paintings on the wall for a moment with a slight frown on her face. Before he could ask if she was all right, the look was gone and she was raising a smile to him. “Thank you, Ry,” she said, and she slipped an arm around his waist, tucking herself against his side.

_Tucked into his arms like that, it felt as if she belonged, as if she had been made just for him; the perfect fit._

Rylen cleared his throat and carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders, remembering the words from her story, his revelations from earlier. “Aye, lass, anything for you,” he said before he could stop himself.

She released her arm from his waist and took a step back, folding her arms again as she glanced back at the paintings. For a moment she simply stared at them, avoiding his gaze, and then she ran a hand through her hair. “Did you - did you get enough to eat? There’s plenty more, if you need seconds - if not we’ll have leftovers for a few days.”

He frowned slightly and exhaled slowly, trying to remind himself of his resolve. “No, I’m full, it was delicious,” he answered finally. “Thank you for cooking, and for - including me.”

“I was happy to,” she told him, and she shot him a furtive glance before she pushed past him and headed to the kitchen. “I should get this in the fridge, and then,” she glanced at her watch, “I have stuff I need to do - settlement meeting coming up, Jessica sent me some papers to look over -”

She was rambling slightly to herself as she hurried around the kitchen packing up the rest of the spaghetti. Rylen watched her for a moment before he sighed and crossed slowly to where he kept his tools, replacing the hammer in the box. He took his seat on the stool again, picking up his glass of wine as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

There were no texts from Russ, which he took to mean things must be going well on his date. He smirked a little as he thought about their conversation, but he carefully swiped his phone and found the story he had been reading. Casting a surreptitious glance Abigail’s way, he found his place once more.

_“I love you, Ry,” she whispered between fevered kisses, breathless as she rocked her hips against his._

_“Aye, lass - I know you do,” he assured her. “I’ll always love you, Lily. I’m yours.”_

_The words had been her undoing, and he could still picture the sight and feeling of her falling apart in his arms clearly, the memory not dimmed at all by the months that had passed since._

_“Come back to me,” she’d made him promise._

_“Always, Lily,” he whispered into the silence of his tent. Exhaustion finally overcame him and he slipped into dreams of dark eyes and the sweet smell of vanilla._


	13. So How You Like Me Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, two chapters back to back along with a lengthy Wicked Game chapter to accompany. I have a lot of free time at the moment as well as an outline - and writing some of the scenes I've been planning for a while is a TON of fun.
> 
> Including this one. All I'll say about it and why I had to go ahead and post instead of sitting on it is:
> 
>  

“All right, Miss Henderson - how are you feeling?”

Abby glanced up from where she had been staring at the floor, arms folded tight against her chest. When she saw the concern in Jessica’s eyes, though, she managed a small smile. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Just - nerves.”

“That’s only natural,” Jessica agreed. She lightly tugged one sleeve of her suit jacket and looked down the hall toward the elevators. “Especially since we’re playing this on his turf, but - don’t worry. We have plenty on our side. Let me handle the negotiations, and if we need to discuss anything we can step outside together. All right?”

“Right,” Abby said, letting out a long, slow exhale.

“You’re still happy with everything we discussed? Nothing giving you pause, making you doubt?” Jessica asked. “Feel free to tell me if anything in the proposal isn’t representative of your interests -”

“No, Jessica, it’s all - it’s perfect,” Abby interrupted quickly. “It’s better than I hoped for, I’m - I definitely feel better with you handling this than Rodney.”

Jessica smirked and let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, I’m sure you do,” she agreed softly.

Before either of them could say anything more, the elevator dinged at the end of the hall and the doors parted. Abby’s heart leapt into her throat when she glanced aside, the sight of John walking slowly out of the elevator making her stomach twist into knots. For a moment he simply stood holding her gaze, an odd look in his eyes as he straightened his black tie. Something silver glinted at her in the fluorescent lights, and her lips parted when she realized he was wearing his wedding band.

Henry stopped next to him and clapped him on the shoulder, and John looked down at the other man as if coming out of a trance. Abby frowned.

“Well - ready?” Jessica asked from beside her.

“I - I am,” Abby breathed, and she pulled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder as she turned to follow Jessica into the conference room. She gave one last frown in John’s direction, unsurprised to see him still staring intently at her.

“Jessica, always a pleasure,” Henry greeted when the pair finally followed them into the room. He held a hand out and Jessica took it with a polite smile.

“Henry, good to see you again,” she greeted curtly as she released his hand, and she turned to face John instead. “John.”

“Jessica, I - it’s wonderful to see you again,” John greeted, but his tone was halting, as if for once he was unsure of himself. “How long has it been?”

“Quite a while,” Jessica replied.

John held his hand out but Jessica had already turned and gestured Abby along one side of the table. He closed his hand into a fist and then slid it into his pocket, staring straight ahead for a moment before he cleared his throat and turned to face Abby. “Abby, do you have a moment? It’s -”

“She has a moment if you’re ready to begin,” Jessica told him, saving Abby the trouble of refusing him. When she caught her lawyer’s eye she saw a shrewd look in her gaze, and was met with a tiny quirk of a smile.

“Well then, shall we?” Henry suggested, glancing between Jessica and John before he settled instead on Abby. “Mrs. Baker, if you would take a seat.”

Abby chafed at the name but turned and pulled a chair out, sinking into it gracefully. She kept her back straight and her head high, clasping her hands in her lap so that their tremble wouldn’t be seen by anyone else. Jessica took her place beside Abby, pulling the files she had prepared from her leather bag and setting them before her on the table.

John moved to the seat across from Abby, undoing the button of his suit jacket as he sat down. He folded his hands before himself on the table, staring for a moment at where they rested. The sight of the ring on his finger made Abby shift uncomfortably and look away, biting back the chastisement she wanted to hurl at him.

“So, change in counsel, I saw it filed with the court two weeks ago,” Henry commented. “Have you been caught up on everything, Jessica?”

“Of course, Henry. I know how to do my job,” she replied smoothly.

“I wasn’t implying - I simply wanted to make certain you knew what was being contested, I -” Henry stuttered out, flushing slightly.

“Yes, I am well aware of the facts of the case,” Jessica informed him. She flipped open the manilla folder in front of her and picked up the settlement agreement resting within. “I also know this was to be a last attempt at settling before the case is sent to court. And so we’ve prepared a settlement agreement, if you’d like to review our terms -”

“No, we won’t be signing a settlement today,” John cut in. The entire time Henry and Jessica had spoken he had stared at Abby unflinchingly, until she had wished she could sink into the chair and disappear.

“What?” Jessica asked, and then she gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “So are you wasting my client’s time this morning? If this isn’t a settlement meeting, then I suppose we’ll see you in court -”

John leaned forward, still staring at Abby, and she finally glanced up at him. “Reconciliation,” he suggested.

“You’ve got to be shitting me -” Abby began, looking to Jessica.

“Yes, my client would like to discuss an attempt at reconciliation,” Henry said. “He told me he has tried to reach out to your client to discuss this before the meeting today, but she was - unresponsive.”

“And I told her to allow all communication to be handled through counsel,” Jessica replied. “My client is not interested in reconciliation. Mr. Baker filed initially, but Miss Henderson is determined to see it through to completion.”

“Abby, please,” John said. “At least talk to me -”

“There’s nothing to say,” Abby gritted out. She looked to Jessica again, and saw the other woman frowning at John before she turned to Abby.

There was an unspoken question in her gaze, and Abby gave a minute shake of her head. Jessica nodded and then turned back to face the pair across the table. “My client is only here today to discuss a settlement agreement so that this doesn’t have to go to court. We have terms drawn up that we are more than happy to review with you and your client. But if you are unwilling to do so, then I think we’re done here.”

“Damn it, Abby, I -” John cut his words off and rested his mouth against his fist, as if trying to calm himself. “All I want is a chance to speak with you. Please, before we - before we make this decision. One last chance to talk.”

Abby bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at Jessica. “I’d like a moment to speak with my lawyer, if you don’t mind,” she announced, and she quickly pushed herself to her feet and led the way out of the conference room.

Jessica followed, firmly closing the door behind them. “Abby, normally in this situation I would advise a client to take a few days, to make an attempt. After all, some problems in a marriage can be fixed, divorces filed impulsively after just one bad fight,” Jessica began.

“But?” Abby prompted her, folding her arms and raising a hand to her mouth to chew on her thumb.

“But,” Jessica agreed with a wry smile, “not in this situation. You no longer - feel as you did, yes?” She waited as Abby nodded confirmation. “You no longer want to be married to him. Reconciliation is not in your best interests.”

Abby continued nodding and then sighed. “But if he won’t sign a settlement agreement without an attempt,” Abby mused, and then she sighed once more, rubbing a hand along her forehead. “What the fuck can I do?”

“We would take him to court,” Jessica answered evenly. “He can’t force you to stay married to him. It would be best if we could try to settle this outside of court, mostly to save time and get you moving forward with your life and future more quickly. But if it comes to that, don’t worry - I’ll be there to make certain he can’t take advantage.”

Abby groaned and ran her hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she muttered. “I thought the worst we’d have was arguing over the house or the fault grounds, but - I don’t know what to do. I really don’t want to go to court.”

Jessica pursed her lips and looked down the hall for a moment as if thinking. “Well, as your lawyer, I’d advise you not to attempt reconciliation. However, what you do is up to you. If not going to court is worth one conversation with him, that is your choice.”

“Would you do it?” Abby asked.

Jessica shrugged. “If I was in your shoes, I would weigh which one would cause me the most pain. A single one-on-one conversation that I know wouldn’t change my mind at all, or a drawn out court battle with a man throwing his money and influence around in a tantrum.”

Abby giggled and shook her head. “When you put it that way,” she commented dryly. “You’re right, there’s nothing he could say - but maybe he’ll get it off his chest and be more agreeable to a settlement if I give in to this demand.”

“I can tell you were married to a lawyer,” Jessica said with a soft laugh. “Have you come to your decision?”

With a deep breath Abby straightened her back. “I think so, unless you’ve come up with some other possible solution.”

“I could always throw around the term ‘sexual harassment lawsuit’ and see if that scares him any,” Jessica suggested, but she laughed again. “Unfortunately his paralegal isn’t my client. Maybe I should find her though, offer her my card.”

Abby giggled again, feeling slightly more at ease in response to the other woman’s humor. Despite the hiccup in negotiations, she still felt more confident now that things might go her way, even just on a few of the key points. After a moment to steady herself, she gestured back to the conference room. “All right, let’s do this.”

“After you,” Jessica agreed.

When Abby walked back into the conference room, she saw John looking out one of the windows, hands in his pockets. Henry was still seated at the long mahogany table, looking through the settlement agreement Jessica had left in front of him.

“Quite a bit more than last time,” he muttered, and then glanced up when he noticed Jessica and Abby reentering the room. “Ah, have we come to a decision?”

At the words John turned away from the window, eagerly searching out Abby’s face. She folded her arms and held his gaze for a moment before nodding once. “One conversation,” she told him.

“Excellent, it’s always best to give it one last shot -” Henry began, but he cut off the words at the withering glare Jessica gave him.

“I have time now, Abby, if you - maybe we could go out to lunch?” John suggested, stepping forward with a hesitant smile.

“I said a conversation, not lunch,” Abby pointed out.

“There’s no reason to just discuss this in an office,” he countered. “Please, some privacy, a better setting than a lawyer’s office -”

“Fine,” Abby interjected, the word slightly muffled because of how her teeth were clenched tight. She walked to where she had left her purse in her chair, glancing at Jessica as she slung it over her shoulder. The other woman nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between them before Abby turned back to the hallway.

Abby didn’t wait for John, didn’t let him lead the way or make a show of escorting her to the elevator. Instead she walked quickly and pounded the button to go down as soon as she reached it, crossing her arms before herself as she waited, bouncing one heel impatiently.

“Wait up, gorgeous,” John said from behind her, and she heard his long strides catching up to her.

“Okay, if we’re doing this - you are _not_ calling me that,” Abby snapped, turning a scathing look to him. “Got it?”

“I - I’m sorry, you’re right,” he agreed, holding up a hand defensively. “That was unfair, I - I’m just glad you said yes, that we - that we can try -”

“We’re not doing anything but talking,” Abby told him. “One conversation, not working things out.”

John frowned and smoothed a hand down his front. “I wish you’d hear me out before you decide -”

The elevator doors parted suddenly and Abby hurried on, jamming her finger at the button for the ground floor. John followed, but he stood turned slightly toward her instead of facing straight on, as if he wanted to keep talking.

“Fucking Christ,” Abby muttered under her breath. “So, where are we going for lunch?”

“There’s that oyster bar nearby we used to go to,” he suggested.

She stared at him for a moment, and then gave an exasperated laugh. “John, I hate oysters. With a burning passion. Don’t you remember? I hated going to that place.”

“I - sorry, I -”

“Had me confused with someone else?” she pointed out.

“No, I just - I forgot, that’s right, they made you sick,” he murmured, and he looked down. Running a hand over his jaw he seemed lost in thought for a moment. “There’s that bistro, on the corner -”

“Fine,” she interrupted curtly.

“Abby, please - can’t we - at least be civil,” he pleaded.

“I’m being civil,” Abby answered. “I’m just not being _compliant_ like you want me to be.”

Before John could reply the elevator finally slowed, and Abby pushed through the doors as they opened. Beside her John took long, quick strides to keep up with her, and he let her pass through the rotating glass door before him. Once out on the street he guided her through the throngs of pedestrians to the large, upscale bistro one block over.

They followed the hostess to a small table on the second level of the restaurant, beside a glass half-wall that lined the division of the levels. John stepped around the hostess and pulled out a seat, waiting for Abby to accept it. For a moment she considered taking the other seat just to spite him, but the hostess smiled encouragingly at her and instead Abby resisted rolling her eyes as she took the offered seat. John helped scoot the chair in, and she adjusted how the white tablecloth hung over her knees without a word of thanks.

“Enjoy your meal!” the hostess said, and she gave John another bright smile before she hurried off.

The irritation brought on by the simple act made Abby’s teeth grit again, and she looked out over the sprawling area below them, at the other diners sitting at tables on the spacious lower level. The memories of being out with him, of everyone smiling, flirting, and bending over backwards to cater to his every desire came back to her. For a moment she simply ground her teeth and tried to take a deep breath.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?” John suggested.

Abby’s narrowed gaze snapped back to his piercing grey eyes. “This is _not_ a date. This is _not_ you wining and dining me to win me over. This is not anything more than me listening to what you have to say before I ask you to sign -”

“Abby - Abby, please, I’m sorry, I was just - trying to break the tension, I thought maybe wine would help -” he assured her, but he fell silent when the waiter stopped beside their table.

Abby ordered a water and a salad, folding her arms as she watched John try to decide, slightly agitated that she had already ordered. When the waiter took their menus and departed, John cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He stared down at where his hands were clasped, gaze seemingly fixated on the ring on his finger.

“Did you wear that today to try to appeal to my romantic side?” Abby mused, sneering slightly as she stared at it as well.

“I - I still wear it every day,” he told her softly.

“Bullshit,” she said. “Unless it’s some weird turn on for Jenna -”

“Damn it, Abby, can we just -”

“No. We can’t.”

He raised his gaze to hers, holding steady as she glared at him. “Did you agree to a conversation, or are you not going to let me ever get out what I have to say?”

Abby rolled her eyes and gestured a hand for him to continue.

John paused for a moment, taking a sip of water before he finally began. “I want us to try again, Abby.”

“I figured as much, considering that’s what the word ‘reconciliation’ means,” Abby replied.

“I -” he swallowed hard and she noticed his cheeks flex slightly “- I shouldn’t have filed. We should have taken time, figured out what we wanted, gone to counseling -”

“John, I suggested counseling for a year and you told me we didn’t need it,” Abby interrupted. “And counseling would have been a better choice _before_ you fucked someone else.”

Silence met her words and she expected him to deny it, just as he always had. He had never actually said it, had never actually vocalized a confirmation that he had had an affair. “You’re right, that was the time,” he agreed quietly. “I - I fucked up.”

Abby’s eyes widened, and she simply stared for a moment, speechless in response to his admission.

“Abby, it was - all a mistake, I handled it all wrong,” he continued. “What if we could start over, what if - just a fresh start, the two of us. I still - I still love you.”

“Bullshit,” she whispered again, unable to look away from him.

“What’s bullshit? I do, Abby, I love you. I’ve always loved you -” he protested.

“No, you don’t love me. You didn’t always love me,” she interrupted, and she leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table as she continued to glare at him. “A man who really, truly loved me wouldn’t have done what you did, wouldn’t have treated me the way you have.”

“I’m only human, Abby, I made a mistake -”

“A mistake that _wrecked_ me,” she pointed out, her voice catching slightly on the word. But she took a deep breath so that she could continue, undaunted by the look on his face. “You broke my heart, broke my trust, manipulated me and tried to ruin me. There’s no coming back from that, John -”

“Abby, I - tell me how I can make it right,” he begged, and he extended an arm across the table to try to take her hand in his.

She pulled it out of his reach, glaring down at his hand. The way that his arm was outstretched pulled his suit sleeve back, and she saw the small silver cufflink he had on.

A small, silver cufflink decorated with a shark.

“You bastard,” she gritted out, raising her gaze to his. “You don’t get to - to yank me around like this and play fucking mind games. You’re only human? Well I’m a human being too John, with very real feelings and just as deserving of respect -”

“I’m not trying to yank you around, or manipulate you, gorgeous - Abby,” he hurried to correct when he caught her glare. “I’m trying to fix this, I’m trying to come clean and - and tell you how I really feel and what I want.”

“Come clean? You think saying you fucked up makes everything better, that it just magically fixes things? Christ, John, you still won’t just _say_ it -”

“Fine,” he interrupted, leaning forward. “Yes, I - I had a relationship with Jenna. I cheated on you, Abby, and I will always, _always_ regret it. It was foolish, and the - the worst mistake of my life.”

Her lips tightened as she stared at him, pain tearing through her chest at the confirmation, but something he said made her frown. “Had?”

He glanced down and refolded his hands on the table in front of him. “It’s over. It should have been over a long time ago -”

“You mean like before it even started?” she quipped, unable to resist.

“I - yes, that’s what I mean,” he agreed. He looked to his left, gaze wandering over the tables below them before he continued. “I miss you, and love you, and I’ve - I’m trying to take steps to make this right, Abby. I ended things with her, I gave her up like you said. I’ve been trying to reach out to you to see if we could talk, if we had a chance -”

“We don’t,” she interrupted, swallowing the lump of emotion that was threatening to choke her words. “I loved you, John. More than anything - you were my everything, you were all I wanted. I didn’t care about any of the rest of it, I just wanted _you_. But I - I wasn’t enough for you, no matter how much I gave, and gave, and gave. And knowing that, knowing that I loved you so much and that that wasn’t enough for you in return kills me, John. It kills me. You made a fool of me, you made a mockery of our marriage, and I - I have no interest in being an even bigger fool by taking you back. It’s over, I’m through. I just want to move on with my life - without you.”

When she finished speaking she looked at her fingers on the table, not wanting to see the look on his face, taking a moment to breathe so that she didn’t break down. Longer than she expected passed in silence, and she finally chanced a glance back up at him. He was staring at the ring on his finger, a deep frown knitting his brows together, and he almost looked pained.

“Abby,” he finally muttered. “I - I am so sorry I made you feel that way, that I hurt you so deeply. I never meant - I never meant to -”

“Yeah, well, here we are,” Abby told him. “Whatever you _meant_ to do - these are the things you did. It’s too late for ‘meant to,’ because the damage has already been done.”

“Please, if you will let me - I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything you ask I’ll do, just please give me a chance to,” he implored her, plaintively holding both hands out to her over the table.

“Jesus, John, you don’t get it, do you?” she asked, shaking her head as she simply stared at him. “You want to do something for me?” she leaned forward as she said it, taking in the way his eyes were glued to her face, awaiting her next words. “Sign the goddamned settlement agreement, and leave me the fuck alone.”

With that she pushed her chair back, swinging her purse over her shoulder as she slipped out from behind the table. “Enjoy my salad when it gets here,” she said before she turned to walk away.

“Wait - Kitten, please -”

The hand that grabbed her arm to pull her back was like a jolt to her system, and she spun on the spot and slapped it away from her. She was shaking, teeth almost rattling as she met his gaze. His eyes widened as he pulled his hand back, as if he was slowly grasping the severity of his mistake.

“Never - ever - call me that - again,” she warned through clenched teeth. “I will only tell you once. I am not your ‘kitten,’ I am not _yours_ , and I never will be - ever again.”

Abby didn’t wait for him to say anything, because anything he could have said to her was meaningless now. She turned and marched quickly away from him, ignoring the stares of anyone who had been around them, or the hostess that she pushed past on her way to the doors. Without looking back she left the restaurant, not pausing at all once she reached the sidewalk beyond. The large windows of the restaurant spanned the distance to the corner, but she resisted looking back, uninterested in whether or not she could see his reaction.

When she reached the crosswalk she stopped and pulled her phone from her purse, opening up her call log and dialing the number once she found it.

“Jessica Coleman speaking,” the calm voice greeted her after two short rings.

“Jessica, it’s Abby Henderson,” she answered.

“Abby - done with lunch so soon?” Jessica asked, sounding slightly surprised.

“Yeah, there’s absolutely no chance at reconciliation,” Abby told her, raising her voice slightly over the sound of traffic as she made her way to the nearest subway station. “I heard him out, he’s still full of shit - contact Henry or whatever it is you need to do on your end. No reconciliation; he either signs that settlement agreement or we’re going to court.”

“Understood,” Jessica agreed smoothly. “Is - is everything all right, Abby? That can’t have been easy, are you -”

“He confessed,” Abby blurted out, slowing on the sidewalk and glancing around. Several people behind her muttered curses and swerved to avoid her, but she didn’t care. She bit her lip for a moment, trying to take a deep breath. “I know that’s still not enough, but he - he finally said it. He never actually said it until now. I just - I -” she swallowed hard “- call Henry, please. I want this resolved. And Jessica - thank you.”

“Of course, Abby,” Jessica replied. “I’ll let you know what Henry says, and see how quickly we can get this taken care of.”

“Right,” Abby said, nodding her head as she continued glancing up and down the busy street, not actually taking in anything that she saw as she did. “I look forward to it.”

“Take it easy, Abby,” Jessica told her. “And I’ll reach out to you soon, hopefully.”

“Thanks,” Abby said again, and she pulled her phone away from her ear and hung up.

For a moment she stood staring blankly across the street, and then she shook herself and continued on her way. Her feet carried her to the subway station almost of their own accord, since she felt lost, her mind a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions.

An odd sense of freedom was fighting its way to the forefront of it all though, and strangely she felt slightly lighter than she had when she walked into the conference room not even an hour before.


	14. An American Pastime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby's opinions about the Mets and the Yankees are her own and do not reflect those of the author. Also this is written with a specific Mets/Yankees game in mind, which I did not watch but did do too much research about - still, if you watched the August 13th game and I got something wrong, my apologies.
> 
> Gabriela's [Face Claim](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/94/6f/c8/946fc8bd0ce22831959a23efb367a891.jpg)

“I think that’s them - or wait - no I could be wrong,” Abigail muttered beside him, standing up on her toes to see over the crowd. As she did she slipped her hand into his as if gripping it could give her more leverage.

Rylen tightened his fingers and glanced down at her, but he barked out laughter at the sight of her trying to crane over the shoulders of people a head taller than her. “Need me to lift you so you can see better, lass?”

“Hey!” she cried, pouting at him with her nose scrunched. “Not my fault I stopped growing at this height. Not all of us can be giants.”

“I’m not a giant -”

“Part-Avvar?”

“No, just - from a long line of tall lads,” he told her.

She pulled her gaze away from where she was scanning the crowd, and gave him a slow once over. “How - how tall are you even?”

“I’m - wait, Russ had me look it up,” he said, pausing as he tried to remember. “I’m about - nineteen hands almost, which was - six foot four in your terms?”

“You’re - fucking Christ,” she blurted out, laughing for a moment, her hand tightening in his again as she threw her head back. “No wonder my neck always hurts looking up at you. I’m barely five foot two! Are you sure you’re not part-Avvar?”

“Aye, lass, I’m sure,” he assured her with a chuckle, rolling his eyes playfully before he looked back over the mass of people. “Oh, I think that’s them.”

Abigail jumped slightly so that she could see over the crowd, and then giggled when she landed on her feet once more and tugged him to follow her. “Well come on then - there’s going to be lines to get in and for drinks and food and stuff.”

They walked through the crowd of people wearing similar shirts, although some were navy and white, some orange and blue, bearing names and symbols on them to differentiate. One set of symbols he recognized from the blue and orange hat Abigail had insisted he wear. She was wearing a shirt with the word “Mets” scrawled across it, the same orange symbol that was on his hat printed below it on her chest. When he had asked why they had to wear them, she had met his gaze with a serious look on her face.

“In this house - we’re Mets fans,” she had deadpanned before she giggled and shrugged a little. “Team spirit. Come on, we need to go - it’s a long way across town.”

Now she was leading him through a large throng of people towards Russ and Gabriela standing off to the side, her fingers interlacing with his so they didn’t get separated. As they approached he glanced up at the high walls made of white stone, marveling at what looked like a gigantic cathedral.

“Hey!” Russ greeted when he saw them.

“You weren’t waiting long, were you?” Abigail asked as she stopped before the other pair. “The subway was insane, we should have left sooner -”

“No, no - totally fine,” Russ hurried to assure her. “Hey, this is Gabriela. Gabriela this is Abby - and - and Rylen.”

As he said it he gestured to each, smiling almost hesitantly. Gabriela grinned, dimples in her cheeks deepening as she looked between the two standing before her. She pushed her dark, curly hair behind one ear and then nodded. “It’s - it’s so good to finally meet you both,” she murmured, her voice soft and demure. “I’ve heard so much about Russ’ friends. And,” her gaze flicked briefly at Rylen as she said it, “I’ve been hoping we could all get together.”

Beside him Abigail’s face broke into a wide smile and she stepped forward, reaching with the hand that wasn’t holding his to shake Gabriela’s. “So nice to meet you as well!”

Gabriela took the offered hand eagerly, smiling with her shoulders pulled up to her ears slightly as she giggled. The two released one another’s hands and Gabriela timidly glanced up at Rylen before hesitantly holding her hand out. When he took it with a smile and a nod she giggled harder, biting her lip as she looked back to Russ beside her.

“Should we go find some beer and our seats?” Abigail suggested, and she pulled Rylen’s hand to lead him to a nearby line.

He simply smiled to himself as he let her guide him to the line and waited for it to move forward, listening to Russ and Gabriela talk softly behind him. Abigail passed him a folded piece of paper before they reached two people checking bags - as well as the piece of paper for everyone entering. She’d briefly explained that it was his ‘ticket’ in, and so when he was asked for the slip of white paper with black squares and lines on it he handed it over.

Once through the admissions point, Abigail took his hand again, jostled slightly in the crowd as she turned back to look for Russ and Gabriela. When they had rejoined them they all made their way up a sweeping stairway, commenting casually on the size of the crowd and the line as they went.

“I’m not surprised it’s a big crowd, even though it was rescheduled for a Monday night,” Abigail said. “Both of the home teams, just - it’s really cool that this is the game you’re getting to see, Ry.”

She had tried to explain the rivalry to him on the subway, the friendly competition between these Yankees and Mets and how the city divided to root for one or the other. But he had been distracted by the beautiful way she was smiling and giggling, the way she had seemed so happy and carefree recently, until in the end he hadn’t fully grasped the reasons for the competition.

“Have you always been a Mets fan, Abby?” Russ asked.

“Definitely,” she replied quickly. “My parents both were, and when we could afford it my mom would take me to a game.”

“Same, actually,” Gabriela chimed in. “My family would get dugout seats sometimes and go see them play. It’s so funny, to this day I never want cotton candy - “

“Until you’re at a game, right?” Abigail agreed with her, pointing and laughing along as they both nodded eagerly. “Ooo, Ry, that’ll be fun - we should get funnel cakes and cotton candy later.”

“Cotton - candy?” Rylen repeated, frowning down at her. “Why’s it called that, lass?”

Abigail tugged his hand and quickly glanced at Gabriela. “Um - I mean it’s candy floss, right? Isn’t that what you call it in Scotland?”

Rylen nodded rapidly, laughing slightly as he did. “Oh, aye - candy floss,” he agreed, even though he still had no idea what she was talking about. He glanced sideways at Russ and noticed him sharing a look with Gabriela. “I should have realized,” Rylen added, as if trying to be more convincing.

Abigail squeezed his hand a few times, and when he looked down at her she winked and smiled, as if trying to tell him, _‘later.’_ Slightly awkward silence overcame the four of them as Abigail peered up at the menu and Rylen looked around at the crowd. The building had been enormous on the outside, but he still couldn’t quite believe how many people were inside walking around, all here to see this ‘sport’ called baseball.

He and Abigail reached the front of the line for food, and she ordered two beers and a popcorn before looking up at him expectantly. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Aye, I’ll - take a slice of pepperoni pete-zah,” he told the merchant as he pulled out his money. He counted out the correct amount, but beside him Abigail perked up.

“No, Ry, you don’t have to -” she protested, reaching for his hands, but he held them higher than she could reach and passed the cash to the merchant.

“Lass, please, allow me,” he insisted. “You bought our tickets, I can buy this for us.”

The girl passing them their fare caught Rylen’s eye and smiled before looking to Abigail with an understanding, almost knowing look. Abigail pursed her lips and accepted her food and drink. She cast a furtive glance up at Rylen, a small smile quirking up the corners of her mouth.

“Thanks, Ry - I appreciate it,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to - you don’t have to keep helping like this, but - you do. And it - it means a lot to me.”

A wide grin broke across Rylen’s face as they stepped aside to wait for the other two. There was such softness in Abigail’s gaze, and as they stopped beside one another she leaned into him slightly, resting her head on his arm. “Of course, Abigail,” he finally told her. “I enjoy doing things with you, and it’s only right, after all.”

“‘Only right,’” she repeated thoughtfully and laughed. “You don’t seem to understand how rare that is.”

Before he could reply, Russ and Gabriela walked up holding their purchases, and Russ suggested that they find their seats. They maneuvered through the crowds once more, checking signs above their heads until they found the right section. Abigail led the way down narrow stairs, counting rows until she found the right one, and she sidled past those already seated to find their seats, the other three following closely behind her.

Once settled, Rylen looked out over the field, marveling at the size of the stadium and the many seats that were filled with other spectators.

“This - this many people come to see this, lass?” he asked as he looked around. Thousands and thousands of seats lined a large grassy field with a sandy diamond on it, and most of the seats were full.

“Yep,” Abigail answered. “It’s America’s pastime, watching baseball live is just something we do.”

“But this many - I mean, all these people paid and showed up to watch a - a game?” He stared out at the crowd once more as he said it, still perplexed by the sight of so many people.

“Yeah, for entertainment,” she told him as she opened her bag of popcorn and ate a few pieces. “Sports are a big deal, they’re one of the biggest industries, one of the biggest ways that people enjoy their free time.”

“You all just - there’s this much leisure time that this is - someone’s job?” Rylen sounded incredulous, but he couldn’t quite fathom that there was a whole following for sport, for a game such as this.

“Um,” Abigail glanced at where Gabriela was frowning on the other side of Russell, “you mean compared to the - the Scottish military?” She tried to deflect, suddenly realizing that their conversation must have carried to the other two.

“Oh, aye, I meant -” Rylen began, but next to him Russ started to chuckle softly.

“Guys, it’s - it’s okay, I told her,” Russ said. When silence met his words from the other two, he gave an apologetic shrug. “I mean she knows the games too, I couldn’t - you can’t expect me to keep that all to myself, right?”

Rylen frowned at him and then glanced at Abigail, surprised to see her staring at Russell as if speechless for a moment before she looked to Gabriela.

“I mean - I guess - she would have recognized him, right?” Abigail finally said.

“I did, yeah - but don’t worry, secret’s safe with me,” Gabriela hurried to assure them, leaning across Russ so that she didn’t have to raise her voice too much. “I’m - I’m still just - wow. I can’t believe you’re - really real. And Thedas was too? I just -” She trailed off suddenly as if self-conscious, and leaned back with a rueful smile. “Another time, maybe. Sorry.”

Russ gave Rylen a cautious glance, but when Rylen simply winked at him he smiled. “I know it wasn’t really my secret to tell, maybe, but - I figured it was easiest -”

“Don’t worry, mate, it’s all right,” Rylen assured him. He looked down at Abigail on his other side, watching as she took a thoughtful sip of her beer. “I suppose that means I can keep asking questions.”

She giggled and nodded. “Ask away. Or I can start explaining the game before it starts.”

“Aye, that works,” he agreed. He sipped his beer and ate his slice of pizza as he listened to her explain the rules of baseball, as she told him the differences between a ball and a strike, and how players scored points for their team. Occasionally Russ or Gabriela chimed in, and when they started talking about bases Rylen caught Russ’ eye and chuckled.

“It might be easier to keep explaining as they start playing,” Abigail finally said. “Once you see it in action you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Yeah it’s not too difficult,” Russ agreed. “It’s the one sport I really like, the others are so - I don’t know. I think you’ll like it too though.”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Rylen commented, and as he said it a loud voice boomed over the stadium and began to make announcements.

When he caught Abigail’s eye she gestured and leaned closer so only he could hear her. “Technology, like in your phone - a microphone, so that everyone can hear him clearly.”

He nodded and smiled down at her, and she returned it readily before she straightened in her chair once more.

“Actually - before it starts - I’ll be back,” she told him, and she put her beer in a holder on the back of the seat in front of her. She sidled back past the other spectators so that she could hurry up the aisle.

“Hey - how’s it going? I noticed you two holding hands,” Russ whispered, leaning closer and smiling eagerly at Rylen.

“I mean - that was just so we didn’t get separated,” Rylen said, shifting slightly before he took a gulp of beer.

“Uh huh, sure it was,” Russ teased, and he playfully elbowed Rylen in the ribs.

“What’s that?” Gabriela asked, innocently looking over.

“Oh, just teasing him about how well things are going with Abby,” Russ explained.

“She’s really nice, I like her,” Gabriela commented with a bright smile. “And she - Russ told me she found you right after you - ended up here?”

“Aye, she did,” Rylen answered. “She saved my life.”

Before he could continue the story, the loud announcer began again and the crowd all stood and placed their hats or hands over their hearts. Rylen looked around before he turned a questioning gaze to Russ and Gabriela, who were both pushing themselves to their feet.

“What’s -” he began, and Russ looked back at him and gestured for him to stand.

“National anthem,” Russ whispered when Rylen leaned down so he could hear him. He had his hand over his heart, and Rylen suddenly felt the need to remove the hat he wore. “It’s a song for the country, like a - ‘yay, go USA!’ sort of thing.”

“You have a - song?” Rylen asked, looking toward where the person was warbling out a song that everyone around him seemed to know the words to.

“Yeah - didn’t you guys have something like this for your countries?” Russ asked.

Rylen shrugged, realizing it couldn’t be much different from heraldry and fealty to one’s home country, like how Cullen had felt about Ferelden or how he felt about Starkhaven. “Aye, I suppose this isn’t that unusual.”

When the song ended, the crowd cheered and the announcer resumed, and finally figures in uniforms ran out onto the field to take their places around the diamond. Rylen watched as a few of them tossed a ball between them, and he realized he could make out the names of the teams on their chests. The symbols and colors matched the ones they were all wearing as well in the stands, and Rylen finally understood what Abigail had meant about “team spirit.”

The game seemed to finally commence, with the announcer calling each player’s name when it was their turn “at bat” as Abigail had told him. He watched with interest, sipping his beer as he tried to follow what was happening on the field, trying to remember all the rules she had explained to him.

“Wait so he’s - he’s done?” Rylen asked Russ when a player walked off the field without much happening.

“Yeah, he struck out,” Russ told him.

“Ah - three of those, aye?” Rylen said, and when he glanced at Russ he saw the younger man bobbing his head eagerly as he smiled.

“Yeah, you’ve got it,” Russ agreed, and he held up a hand.

Rylen stared at it, confused, and then Russ started laughing almost as if embarrassed. “Right, you wouldn’t - it’s called a high five. You - hit my hand with yours, like as a - a way to say good job, or hooray, or - I don’t know. It’s just something we do, something - something I like to do.”

Rylen frowned but lifted a hand and tapped it against Russ’, causing his friend to smile brightly and nod eagerly.

“Yeah, there you go -” Russ tried to tell him, but his words were interrupted by a loud _crack_ and he looked back out at the field.

The ball was soaring over the field and landed in the stands, to much raucous applause from those wearing the same team spirit as Rylen was. The player who had hit the ball was running around the bases, and everyone around them seemed to be celebrating.

“Oh man - a home run already!” Russ cried. When he caught Rylen’s eye, Rylen tentatively raised a hand, and with a laugh Russ obliged him with a high five. “Woo, go Mets!”

On Russ’ other side Gabriela was cheering, applauding as she watched the player leave the field. “Great start - let’s go Mets!” she yelled, cupping her mouth with a hand.

“Fuck - did I already miss us scoring?”

Rylen glanced up to see Abigail resuming her seat beside him, holding a silver foil covered rectangle that she began to unwrap as her eyes wandered over the field. It contained a large hot dog covered with what looked like mustard, a melted cheese sauce, relish, and browned onions. When she caught his gaze a smile slowly broke across her face and her eyes almost gleamed with delight.

“No judgments, I just went to the bathroom and then I passed the hot dogs and it just looked - _so good_ ,” she told him.

He simply chuckled as he watched her open her mouth to take a bite of the overladen hot dog she held. Some of the mustard and cheese clung to the corners of her mouth as she chewed, and he laughed harder. “Here, lass - there’s something on your face -”

“Don’t you dare,” she told him, giggling as she leaned away from the finger he was trying to reach toward her mouth.

“What? I’m trying to help you. It’s just my finger, not like it’s my tongue,” he teased before he could stop himself.

Abigail dissolved into laughter but flushed, shaking her head as she used her tongue to lick away the mess the hot dog had left around her lips. “You’re a rascal,” she told him when she’d swallowed, and then she stared pointedly at him and took another large bite, again managing to make a mess as she did.

“You’re disgusting, lass - who taught you how to eat?” he taunted, laughing as she scrunched her nose up at him. But she laughed with him, and he leaned back in the seat, stretching his arm to rest it casually on the back of her seat. “I’ve seen Mabari who eat more daintily than you. Your mother would be ashamed.”

“My mother would wonder why I didn’t also get sauerkraut and ketchup, and then would join me in devouring the deliciousness that is a good hot dog,” she corrected him. She giggled before she took another bite, this time using her finger to wipe the corners of her mouth, which she then licked and sucked clean. The action was incredibly distracting to him, and he cleared his throat and looked away from the sight of her full lips wrapped around her thin finger.

Their banter was interrupted by another crack of the bat, and they both turned their focus back to the field. For a time they simply sat in peace, watching the game as Abigail finished the hot dog she had brought back with her. She settled back in her seat leaning against his arm, and when he let his hand drape so that his fingers could stroke her arm, she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she smiled.

For a few weeks now, she had smiled so easily, readily teasing him and letting him tease her in turn. Their time together had been carefree and lighthearted, speaking about whatever caught their fancy, whether just about their days or something Rylen had read in his history book or seen around the city. And now as they sat watching the baseball game unfold before them, he sat with his arm around her, casually trailing his fingers along the exposed skin of her arm, and she was smiling and giggling with him.

The game was easy enough to follow along, and the other three were willing to answer any question he had. While it had been odd to him at first, it was becoming clear to him why so many people had turned out for the game, considering how much fun he was having out with friends and his lass.

His lass.

Again he was struggling not to think of things like that. But when he glanced at the sight of his arm around her shoulders, the way she was smiling, the way he could feel her skin prickling with gooseflesh where he touched her - it was hard not to think of her that way. She wasn’t doing anything outright to encourage him, but the natural way she was beginning to respond to him did more than plant a seed of hope in his chest.

A song began playing throughout the stadium during one of the breaks in the action, and an excited ripple seemed to go through the crowd as they all looked toward the giant screen above the score. There was a red and pink border with hearts around it, and the words “Kiss Cam!” were scrawled on the bottom.

“What’s this, lass?” Rylen asked, pointing at the screen.

“Hm?” Abigail glanced over from where she’d been speaking with Gabriela, and she giggled when she saw the screen. “Oh! It’s the kiss cam. They try to find couples in the crowd and get them to kiss. Some people use them to propose - I forgot they did this, it’s been ages since I came to a game.”

“You haven’t been in a while?” Rylen mused, watching the screen as the camera sought out couples and they laughed and kissed, greeted by cheers from the crowd.

“No, not in years,” Abigail explained. “John was a Yankees fan, and just - going to games wasn’t any fun with him. I should have known it wouldn’t work, I mean - the _Yankees_?”

She scrunched her nose up as if disgusted and laughed, causing a few people near them to glance over their shoulders at her. Rylen realized why - they were wearing navy and white emblazoned with the team’s symbol and name. Before he could ask her anything more, though, she suddenly laughed harder and pointed at the screen.

“Oh my god - guys!” she exclaimed, and she looked over at Russ and Gabriela. Rylen followed her pointing finger and saw the kiss cam focused on the pair beside them.

Russ’ eyes widened and then he turned to Gabriela, smiling, but before he could make a move she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him eagerly. The crowd around them cheered wildly, and Abigail cupped her mouth with her hand and belted out, “ow ow!”

The camera moved on, and Russ and Gabriela separated, giggling and flushing as they looked around. Several strangers clapped Russ on the shoulder, everyone surrounding them chuckling and murmuring for a few moments. Russ glanced at Rylen, who held his hand up for a high five.

“Oh man I never thought - that was - heh,” Russ muttered as he slapped his hand against Rylen’s. He shook his head and leaned back, reaching his arm around Gabriela’s shoulders to hold her.

Gabriela was still giggling, but she caught Abigail’s eye and smiled brightly. “That was surprising - it should have landed on you two though, you’re so cute together,” she mused.

“I - what - I mean we’re not - no, that would’ve been - um - we’re not - together,” Abigail stuttered out, and her cheeks pinkened prettily as she tripped over her denials. She caught Rylen’s eye and her flush deepened before she looked away and hurried to pick up her beer.

“Oh, sorry, I thought - well,” Gabriela said. She glanced at Russ and then giggled, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Sorry I just sort of went for it -”

“No, babe, that was - that was great,” Russ told her, and he pressed another kiss to her lips. “You’re the best,” he added, and he planted another kiss on her as she giggled.

Rylen looked away, giving the couple a chance to some privacy, and he saw Abigail draining the rest of her beer as she searched the crowd for something.

“Thank god,” she muttered to herself, and she suddenly waved a hand to a man walking down the aisle carrying a case around his neck. “Do you want another beer, Ry?”

“Aye, here let me,” he told her. He removed his arm from her shoulders and began to dig in his pocket in search of his cash.

“No, don’t worry about it,” she tried to insist, still looking toward the merchant to catch his attention. She waved a hand at Rylen, as if trying to get him to stop his digging, but she missed her mark.

The touch only lingered for a moment before she yanked her hand away as if scalded, a soft gasp escaping before she turned wide eyes up to him. “S-sorry, I - uh -”

“It’s - it’s fine, lass,” he told her, trying to hide the slight strain of his voice as he tugged his jeans at his knees and shifted in his seat.

It couldn’t have even been considered a caress, and it hadn’t lingered long enough to actively excite him. And while he wanted to simply blame the fact that he hadn’t been touched by anyone in longer than he could remember, he knew that wasn’t the reason why he suddenly felt flustered. He stared at the field while she handled the purchase of their drinks, trying to distract his mind and calm his focus, not allowing his body the response it wanted.

But it had been _her_ fingers there, and despite himself all he longed for was for them to return, for it not to be an accident but rather something that she wanted. Clearing his throat he banished the desires, willing himself back under control.

“Here,” she said, and he glanced aside to see her still blushing as she passed him a fresh beer.

“Aye, thank you, Abigail,” he made a point to tell her. “I appreciate it -”

“Yeah, of course, no - no problem,” she muttered, and she lifted her beer to her lips and took a long gulp, avoiding his gaze.

When they returned their attention to the game, he didn’t put his arm back around her shoulders, not wishing to add any to the awkward discomfort she seemed to be feeling. After several moments, discussion between the four of them continued, and the remainder of the game passed with only slight stiltedness between them. In the end the Mets won, and Abigail was smiling and cheering again, finally seeming to have moved past the moment they had accidentally shared.

The crowds were slow to file out of the stands, and they spoke casually about the game, laughing and joking together as they made their way up the aisle. When they passed a restroom Abigail and Gabriela excused themselves, leaving the two men to stand outside the door to wait for them.

“So, what’d you think of baseball?” Russ asked.

“Aye, I can see why people enjoy it,” he answered. “It was an enjoyable way to pass the time.”

“Good chance to hang out with Abigail, too,” Russ said. “I’m glad she could get the night off to come. She seems - I mean, she seems happier than the last time I saw her.”

“She has been, recently,” Rylen told him. “I just think - things seem to be going her way, lately. She’s not as stressed.”

“Plus she enjoys being around you,” Russ pointed out.

“I - I don’t know about that, mate -”

“Oh come on, she was holding your hand and letting you put your arm around her,” Russ said. “She’s totally your lass -”

“No, Russ, we - we’re not -” Rylen tried to deny, shifting where he stood as he dragged a hand down his chin.

A squealing laugh interrupted his words, and he felt hands on his shoulders as a small body launched itself onto him from behind with a clumsy leap, causing him to hunch slightly so it didn't tumble off of him. “Whatcha talking about?” Abigail’s voice sounded in his ear, mingling with her carefree giggles.

Rylen laughed as well, and he reached behind him to grab her legs, lifting her to secure her more tightly on his back as he straightened once more. He kept his hands hooked under the bend of her knees, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as she laughed harder. “Talking about baseball, lass,” he answered, and he chuckled as she squirmed slightly in his firm grasp.

“Wait, Ry - put me down -” she protested, but her arms and legs clung more tightly to him even as she said it.

“I thought you wanted a ride,” he told her, and he adjusted her up a bit more before he turned to lead the way through the crowd. “As my tiny lass wishes - now point the way.”

She continued giggling, her breath warm on his cheek where her head rested against his, and she loosed one hand’s grasp to point him in the right direction. “Onward, noble steed,” she teased, and for a moment it felt as if she nuzzled her nose against his ear.

He laughed and began to make his way through the crowd, keeping tight hold of his precious burden as he did. Behind him he could hear Gabriela and Russ laughing as they followed them through the throng of people toward the exit.

“Are you - are you sure they’re not together, Russ?” Gabriela’s confused voice reached his ears over the cacophony of the crowd, and despite himself he smiled.


	15. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter, with lots of fun additional media attached!
> 
> This chapter's mood music is two fold: [Madonna's "Crazy For You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHutZXREZ0E) because it just fits the mood so well, and [Ed Sheeran's "Perfect"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Vv-BfVoq4g) \- which this chapter is titled after and which features prominently.
> 
>    
> Edward's [Face Claim](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/29/60/5a/29605a59f21bfaa1e8e822db987e6f0b.jpg)  
> Abby's Dress:  
> 

“I can’t - quite get it right,” Rylen’s voice sounded from the living room. There was a hint of frustration in his tone, but Abby still found herself giggling.

“Give me a minute and I’ll help you,” she called from the bathroom. Running her hands through her hair one last time, she did her best to fluff it with the lingering product on her fingers before she turned the faucet on to wash her hands. It had been a long time since she’d had to care so much what she looked like, and she turned her face to catch the lighting, checking her makeup.

With one final satisfied nod at herself, she dried her hands and turned to leave the bathroom, but she suddenly paused and took a deep breath. Nerves were making her heart race, and it took her a moment to realize why. Deep chuckles sounding from the living room caused her breath to catch in her throat, and she tried to steady herself. Lifting the silk of her long, yellow dress she finally left the bathroom so that she could help.

Rylen was standing near the bar cart, his tuxedo jacket lying on it waiting for him to finish with his bow tie. For a moment Abby simply stood in the doorway and stared, letting her eyes drink in the sight of  _ him _ wearing black tie formal.

“Need help?” she asked after a moment, giggling softly at his struggling fingers as she began to close the distance between them.

His eyes flicked up briefly to where she approached, but then his head slowly raised as he let his eyes wander over her. “L-lass, I - you look - absolutely beautiful,” he murmured.

“Why so surprised?” she teased, stepping before him and brushing his fingers aside from his bow tie.

“I’m just - I’ve never seen you in anything but black, really,” he told her. “And I’ve certainly never seen you in a dress, especially not one like this - it suits you. You should wear yellow more often.”

“Mmm, thank you for the fashion advice,” she murmured, and when he caught her eye she winked at him. “We’re running short on time though, so let me get this tied right for you so we can go.”

“I watched the video but it’s - I mean, what’s the point of this bow tie anyway?” he groused, pouting slightly.

Abby bit her lower lip as she focused on tying the black satin pieces together properly. Years of practice helping John get ready for such events came back to her, but she easily pushed the memories aside without a tinge of regret. “Surely you had ornamental pieces for your armor, or something for special occasions?” she asked as she straightened the bow tie one last time.

“Aye, but that was on armor, this is - all of this is useless pomp,” he said.

“It’s not useless, you’re looking good - for me,” she told him with a small shrug. “I invited you to be my date, and I - I need you by my side as I face these people. So think of this bow tie and tuxedo as your armor - while you protect me from their boring, judgmental gazes.”

When she raised her eyes to his, she was taken aback by the intensity in his as he stared down at her. “Aye, Abigail - I can do that,” he agreed softly.

“Th-there, you’re all set,” she muttered, and she absently brushed a hand across his shoulder as if wiping something away. But really she just wasn’t ready to let go of him, wasn’t ready to leave the apartment and head out to face everyone else. With a sigh she turned away and picked up her small beaded bag. “Get your jacket on and let’s go.”

“Are we taking the subway like this?” he asked as he pulled his tuxedo jacket on.

“Hell no,” she told him with a giggle. “Don’t worry, we’re taking a car - it should be here by now.”

“Like a cab?” he asked as they walked out of the apartment and he locked up behind them.

“Better,” she answered, and she winked again before she carefully began to make her way down the stairs.

When they walked out onto the sidewalk, a man in a crisp black suit stepped away from a black town car and tentatively gestured a hand. “Miss Henderson?”

“Yes, are you Alan?” she replied.

“I am, are you all set?” he asked, placing a hand on the back door’s handle.

“Yes, thank you, Alan,” she said, and when he opened the door she gratefully closed the distance to it. Rylen held a hand out and helped her into the car before he followed, and the driver closed the door behind them both. “Told you it was better than a cab.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re right, even I can tell the difference,” he said. “Did you?”

“No, Connie sent it for us,” she explained. “One of the guests of honor, and all that.”

“I see,” he mused, nodding as he looked around the interior of the car.

For a few moments Abby just stared out the window, watching as the car carefully maneuvered its way through traffic. A sudden realization came to her, though, and she glanced at Rylen seated beside her. “Listen, I know we talked about how formal and stuffy this will all likely be, but um - I forgot to sort of - prepare you for their attitudes,” she began.

“Attitudes?” he repeated, quirking a dark eyebrow as he met her gaze. “I’m certain I can handle it, lass.”

“I know, I just - want to sort of make sure you know it could be irritating,” she told him. With a tiny smirk she reached out a finger and trailed it along the scar on his cheek. “I mean - these are stuffy rich people who look down their noses at everything. And you’re a giant, supposed Scotsman with scars and tattoos on his face, and I’m the woman currently divorcing one of their own, not letting him buy her off, even though she never belonged in this social tier to begin with -”

“All right, lass, you’ve made your point,” he said, and he reached over and took her hand where it rested in her lap. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it get to me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“You always are,” she murmured. “But I’m saying they may not be.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand, but he still didn’t release it. “I’ve dealt with nobles before, and none of them walked away with broken noses. I’ll be fine.”

She giggled and fell silent, staring once more out the window at passing buildings and traffic. After a while they chatted casually, Abby pointing things out the window and showing him the sights they could see, the ones he hadn’t seen yet. And still he held her hand, and smiled, and listened intently to every word she said. 

His presence remained simultaneously comforting and exhilarating, the same way it had for weeks now. Nothing he did had changed; in fact he had stayed constant, as steady and sure as he had been since they had met months ago. Instead she was more acutely noticing the way it always made her feel, noticing the warmth and contentment she felt every moment she was with him. It was enough to puzzle her for the entirety of the ride to the gala, so that by the time they pulled up and Alan was opening her door all she knew was that she needed a drink to steady her nerves.

When Rylen stepped beside her, he held his arm out, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm with a smile. They made their way inside, Abby mostly watching the floor so that she didn’t trip on her long dress, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm the tight feeling in her chest.

Her musings ended abruptly when she heard a voice calling her name across the room, and she finally raised her gaze from her shoes. Rylen had led her into the ballroom, which was decorated with purple - the awareness color for pancreatic cancer. Looking around at the purple tablecloths and carefully arranged, elegant place settings on the tables, she noticed the ballroom was still mostly empty.

“Abby! So good to see you,” Connie greeted as she finally closed the distance to them both. She stepped forward, arms outstretched, and Abby gladly accepted her embrace, hands resting on her elbows as they kissed one another first on one cheek, and then the other.

When Abby leaned back she maintained her hold on her elbows, looking her up and down. She was wearing a deep violet dress, its sweetheart neckline leading seamlessly to off-the-shoulder banded sleeves, showing off her prominent, sculpted collarbone. The satin of the dress shone in the light of the ballroom, the mermaid shape of its long skirt emphasizing Connie’s tall, slender form.

“Connie, you look lovely,” Abby told her, squeezing her elbows one last time before she released her. “And everything looks so wonderful - you must have worked night and day.”

Connie waved a hand and chuckled. “The work of plenty of people behind the scenes,” she told her. “Your dress is stunning, Abby - you’re doing an excellent job of showing how well off you are without him.”

Abby laughed as Connie beamed at her. “You were right, it’s a good chance to,” she agreed. “Oh, Connie - this is Rylen, he’s a - close friend, and also agreed to help fend off the wolves tonight.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Connie greeted him, holding out her hand with a kind smile. If she noticed his scars or tattoos, she didn’t miss a beat. “Connie Baker, I’m actually - the first ex-wife, if you’d believe it.”

Rylen chuckled as he shook her hand. “Aye, she mentioned something about that. It’s nice to put a face to the name, I’ve - heard about what you’ve helped her with,” he said with a winning smile. “Mighty decent of you, if I may say so.”

“Yes, well - it’s the right thing to do,” Connie agreed as she released his hand. “You sound - Scottish, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Aye,” Rylen answered, clasping his hands behind his back and standing straighter, as if at attention. “That’s correct.”

“I have such fond memories, I’ve visited several times,” Connie told him. “Have you been here long?”

“Almost six months, now, I’d wager,” Rylen replied casually. “It’s a change, but a welcome one. New York is fascinating.”

“Ah, yes, it is,” Connie said, almost wistfully. “How did you two meet?”

“I - um -” Abby began, but beside her Rylen smirked and shrugged.

“Abigail saved my life,” he answered without any hesitation. “Not long after I arrived here. I was mugged, injured in an alley, and she got me home safe and tended my wounds.”

“Really?” Connie asked, raising her eyebrows as she looked to Abby. “I’m glad to hear she was there to help you, I - I can’t imagine.”

Abby tried to keep a straight face so that she didn’t cast doubt on his assertion. After all, it was still mostly true. “Yeah, it was - certainly an interesting way to meet someone,” she commented, and when Rylen caught her eye she smiled.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Rylen,” Connie told him. “And glad Abby found you. That must have been terrifying, but at least she was able to help you. I’m so happy you could join us this evening - I know it’s not the most  _ exciting _ event, just some speeches, mainly, but -”

“Please, Connie - it’s going to be a lovely evening,” Abby hurried assure her. “Thank you so much, again, for inviting us. I’m thrilled to be here.”

“Thank you, Abby,” Connie said, inclining her head as she said it. “I’m sorry I had to get you here so early, but I actually wanted to give you time to settle in. Your story that you emailed to me is in the program, so people may approach you this evening, to discuss it, so - go ahead and take the time to grab a drink, get relaxed. But also, please - enjoy yourself this evening. And let me know if you need anything at all, either of you.”

“Of course,” Abby agreed with a smile. “I think we’ll be fine, and I can handle the questions - at least it’s a cause I’m passionate about. The bar is -”

“Over there, and for you, it’s open all night,” Connie interrupted with a reassuring smile. “Give them your name and they’ll give you a bracelet, I believe, but - if not find me and I’ll tell them. Same for you, Rylen, as well.”

“Thank you - you’re seriously too kind, Connie,” Abby said.

“Please, don’t mention it, I’m just happy to give you an excuse to get out -” Connie emphasized with a hand, but a deep voice interrupted.

“Am I too late, sweetheart?” A dark-haired man with large, clear-framed glasses was hurrying up to Connie, and once he reached her he stopped and made a show of his jaw dropping as he held his hands out to her. “Stunning. Absolutely stunning - can you believe how beautiful this woman is?”

When he turned to Abby with the question she smiled and nodded, noticing the familiar way he placed a hand at Connie’s waist.

“I am so sorry, I meant to be here ages ago - one of my students came to office hours and just had the most  _ fascinating _ questions about Van Gogh,” the man continued. He cupped Connie’s cheek and planted a kiss to her. “How can I help, now that I’m here?”

Connie giggled, the sound surprising to Abby as she watched the other woman positively blush under the compliments and kisses of the man. “We’ve actually mostly got it all, but I’m glad you’re here,” she told him, a loving look coming into her eyes as she peered down at him. He was just barely shorter than her with her heels on, but the adoration on his face as he looked up at her made it clear he didn’t care one bit. “Eddie, I’d like for you to meet one of the guests of honor - Abby Henderson.”

A soft light of recognition seemed to come across the man’s face, and he smiled widely and held a hand out to Abby. When she took it he pumped it almost too eagerly, clasping it with his other as he did. “Edward Reed - so nice to finally meet you, Abby, I’ve heard a great deal.”

Abby laughed as she released the handshake. “Yes, I’m sure you have,” she mused, glancing at Connie and winking. “Since we’re making introductions, this is Rylen, he’s my - uh -”

“I’m her date for the evening,” Rylen finished for her, smiling as he held a hand out to Edward.

“Wow,” Edward said, taking the hand and staring up at Rylen. “Those are -  _ fascinating _ tattoos. I’m - I’m so sorry,” he said as he released Rylen’s hand and gestured it in his direction instead, “I’m not trying to be rude at all. I’m sure people stare all the time, but the lines are so striking - I just - do they mean anything?”

“Eh,” Rylen shrugged and made a face as if considering before he answered. “I was a young lad, they reminded me of home while I was away for my training. I figured why not wear my home pride where everyone could see it.”

“Remarkable,” Edward muttered, putting his hands in his pockets, shaking his head as if lost in wonder. “And training - what training were you in where tattoos on your face weren’t an issue?”

“Rylen was in the military - special forces,” Abby interjected. “It’s all very hush hush, even I don’t know what he got up to.”

“Oh ho! If you tell me you’ll have to kill me?” Edward exclaimed, and he began laughing. “Well, I won’t pry and,” he dragged two pinched fingers across his mouth, “my lips are sealed. How great that you had a profession that allowed that sort of self-expression. You know, I’ve always been absolutely enthralled by the history of tattoos. Did you know, the earliest evidence we’ve ever found of tattoos is from the mummified skin of the Similaun Man, who lived possibly as far back as 3400 BC?” His eager excitement seemed to shift gears, as if he was preparing to give a lecture. 

Rylen’s eyebrows rose, the corners of his mouth tugging down as he shook his head slightly. “I didn’t know that,” he commented casually, and beside him Abby snickered softly, trying to keep herself from dissolving into laughter.

“It’s true, I mean - humans have been etching into their skin in rituals and as shows of strength and status for millenia,” Edward said, emphasizing with a hand. “We may do it with electrically powered needles now, but sticks, thin pieces of metal or stone were all commonly used for thousands of years. Artistic expression, even on our skin, is almost inherent in us, I’d argue.”

“I actually just had mine done with a hollow needle holding ink, one poke at a time,” Rylen explained casually.

“Now  _ that _ is commitment - doing the old method like that, especially there on your nose,” Edward trailed off again. “You know,” he stepped forward and lowered his voice a little conspiratorially, “when I was younger, I actually got the symbol from Led Zeppelin Four tattooed on my shoulder. I’ve always thought about getting something by Da Vinci or Dali, but - one tattoo session was enough for me. I don’t have the pain tolerance like you two seem to…”

Abby tuned out the rest of their conversation, looking around the ballroom as she noticed people beginning to make their way in. Connie finished giving instructions to the coordinator who had stopped her for a question, and she turned back to Abby with a smile. Looking between the two men speaking, she chuckled and moved around Edward to stand beside her.

“Well, nice to see them getting along,” Connie murmured. “How have things been going, by the way? We haven’t spoken in a few days, any news?”

Abby gave a wry smile. “No, unfortunately. Still radio silence on that end,” she told her with a sigh. “And court won’t be for another three months, unfortunately. Jessica couldn’t get the date moved up at all.”

“She’ll be here this evening, so you won’t be totally defenseless while I’m busy running things,” Connie said. “Although,” she glanced at Rylen with a twinkle in her eye, “I think you brought a better protector than I could have imagined.”

Abby giggled but felt her cheeks heat as she looked to where Rylen and Edward were still deep in conversation about tattoo practices. Over the other man’s head, Rylen caught her eye and smiled, giving her a brief wink before he returned his attention to the conversation. Biting her bottom lip she looked back to Connie, vaguely unsurprised to see the woman giving her a knowing look.

“He’s - he’s been a good friend,” Abby said, glancing away from the piercing stare of her friend.

“Well, you saved his life,” Connie mused. “That sort of bond - either way, I’m happy you’ve had someone there for you. And he’s - quite impressive.”

“Edward seems lovely,” Abby gushed suddenly, speaking too quickly. She noticed Connie smirk before she nodded, as if allowing Abby the abrupt change of subject.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed dreamily. “The wedding is less than six weeks away, and yet I - I’m not stressed about planning it or anything at all. It just feels - right, like everything is as it should be. Nothing could really go wrong, so long as I still have him at my side. It’s the most wonderful feeling, I - oh, I’m sorry, Abby, I shouldn’t keep going on and on -”

“No, Connie, it’s fine, I’m - I’m so glad to see you looking and sounding so happy,” Abby hurried to assure her. But her words were echoing in Abby’s mind, and she realized they were tugging at something, at the way she had felt about coming to the gala that evening.

Nothing that happened there tonight could get to her, because Rylen was beside her.

“Ah, you won’t have to listen to my boring platitudes for much longer,” Connie commented suddenly. “Jessica! Oh, you look absolutely beautiful.”

The lawyer walked up to greet them, smiling as she nodded thanks to Connie’s compliment. “Connie - that dress is just as gorgeous as you said,” she said, and she exchanged quick pecks on the cheek with Connie before turning her attention to Abby. “Miss Henderson, you look beautiful as well, that dress is stunning on you.”

“Please, Jessica, you can call me Abby,” she told her, exchanging the same greeting as the other women had. She gestured at the structured, asymmetrical black dress Jessica was wearing and gave a wide smile. “That dress looks amazing, I love it.”

“Nice to see one another in something a bit more exciting than suits,” Jessica mused, and she chuckled. “Connie, everything looks marvelous, I love what you did with the space. Did the little hiccup with the keynote get solved?”

“It did, yes,” Connie replied, laughing softly as she shook her head. “Thank you again for listening to me vent over wine though, that alone helped keep me sane. Have you seen Robert, by the way? I needed to ask him about…”

Again Abby tuned out of the conversation, looking over the ballroom and the many people wandering in. A gleam of carefully-styled silver hair caught her eye, and when the small crowd blocking her view shifted her heart leapt into her throat.

“C-Connie, I - um -” Abby said, turning her gaze back to the other women beside her.

Before she could get the words out, Connie glanced in the direction of the door and seemed to see what had caught Abby’s eye. “Damn it, I - Abby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know he was coming,” Connie hurried to assure her, and she looked back at Abby, her pale blue eyes wide. “I checked the guest list, since he used to come, but - oh no,” she sighed and closed her eyes. “It was under his firm’s name. I assumed - a different partner, or that they were simply donating to the charity, or maybe giving to a client like they do sometimes. I’m so, so sorry -”

“It’s - it’s fine,” Abby muttered. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself -”

“Lass, did you see -” Rylen interrupted, and she felt his large, strong hand in the small of her back, which was fully exposed by her dress. The heat of his skin on hers was reassuring, comforting, and she suddenly felt grounded, nerves steady as she made eye contact with John across the room.

Lifting her gaze to where Rylen stood beside her, she gave him a reassuring smile. “I did, but it’s fine - I’m not going to let him ruin a good time,” she told him.

He smirked, rubbing his thumb on her skin where his hand still rested. “Aye, there’s a lass,” he agreed. “And I’m your armor, eh?”

She giggled and nodded before she looked back to Connie and Jessica, sighing deeply. “Well, this should be interesting.”

“Remember, Abby, he can’t - and shouldn’t - say anything about the court case to you,” Jessica reminded her. She was looking out of the corner of her eye at John approaching, and her gaze moved up and down as if she was evaluating him, an eyebrow raised as if she didn’t approve of what she saw.

“Right,” Abby said, taking a deep breath.

“I notice he came alone,” Connie commented under her breath.

Abby laughed despite herself. “Either he’s trying to keep pretending he really meant it, or Jenna won’t take him back.”

Beside her Connie tittered, hiding her mouth behind the hand bearing her unassuming engagement ring, trying to compose herself as Edward rejoined their small cluster.

“Oh, I see - now it’s a party,” Edward mused softly, removing one hand from his pocket to place on Connie’s waist. 

“Ah, I - I didn’t expect to run into everyone as soon as I arrived,” John greeted them all, trying to give a gleaming smile as if he was perfectly at ease. It was subtle, and if Abby hadn’t known him so well she wouldn’t have noticed the slight scowl threatening to mar his genial expression. “I just wanted to come tell you how wonderful this all looks, Connie, and thank you on behalf of the firm.”

“We welcome the firm’s support, John,” Connie said, but the smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate you showing up in solidarity with this charity - you know every bit helps.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” John agreed, and his eyes shifted between all the faces of those before him. “Jessica, good to see you. And,” he fixed Abby with his piercing gaze, “Abby, I - I'm pleasantly surprised to see you here as well.”

Abby raised an eyebrow as she held his gaze, but she shifted slightly on her feet until she could feel Rylen’s presence more closely. “Mmm, yes, I’m certain you are - not like you could have seen my name in the information online, the program that was released -”

“I - may have -” John began to say, seeming slightly off-kilter in response to her bluntness.

“John, I’m not sure you’ve met Dr. Edward Reed?” Connie interrupted, gesturing to the man beside her. “He’s an Art History professor at NYU, and -”

“Her fiancé,” Edward finished for her with a wide smile as he stepped forward and held out a hand. When John took it, Abby watched as Edward’s knuckles almost turned white, as if he was gripping the other man’s hand as tight as he could. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes, you - you as well,” John said, dropping his hand as quickly as he could. “I’d - heard, but allow me to congratulate you both now.”

“Thank you, John, that’s kind of you,” Connie accepted with a graceful inclination of her head. “Oh, and I’m not certain you’ve met Rylen,” she said and gestured a hand at where Rylen stood beside Abby.

Rylen gave a perfunctory smile, quirking one eyebrow as he said, “Aye. We’ve met.” But he held out a hand, and it could only be described as a direct challenge to John to continue to ignore his presence.

Clearing his throat slightly, John extended his hand once more and gave a nod of recognition. “Yes, of course,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect to see you here -”

“Seems the night is full of surprises, eh?” Rylen commented casually, and when he released John’s hand Abby noticed the way John flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist as if trying to shake off pain.

“Well, there are some preparations that need to be taken care of, if you’ll excuse me,” Connie told them all, nodding slightly. She caught Abby’s eye and gave her a smile, and the understanding that passed between them helped bolster her spirits once more.

“Ry, we should probably grab drinks and find our seats at the head table,” Abby said, glancing up at Rylen and batting her eyelashes.

“Aye, good idea, Abigail,” he agreed, and he gallantly held out an arm for her. “Edward, it was nice to meet you. We’ll speak more later?”

“Of course, I look forward to it!” Edward eagerly replied, and he held out an arm to Jessica in turn. “Jessica, may I escort you to your seat or to the bar, perhaps?”

“Yes, thank you, Edward,” Jessica told him as she accepted. “I think I saw the hors d'oeuvres starting to come out, and Connie told me about the prosciutto and goat cheese crostini she taste tested a few weeks ago. I've been thinking about it ever since.”

“I’ve been dying to try the bacon-wrapped shrimp, she put them on the menu for me,” Edward agreed with a few deep chuckles. Their voices faded away as they departed in the opposite direction as Abby and Rylen, who headed for the bar - their small group dispersing and leaving John standing by himself. 

Abby didn’t bother looking back, instead she tightened her hold on Rylen’s arm and smiled up at him.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked softly, his brows furrowing slightly with concern.

“Aye, I am,” she answered, trying - and butchering - a Starkhaven accent. She giggled and hung her head, and Rylen patted where her hand rested in the bend of his arm as he laughed.

“You’ll have to practice a wee bit more, my bonny lass,” he told her, and she could tell he was intentionally emphasizing his accent more than normal to make her laugh. “Don worry, say nae moar, we’ll work on it later, eh?”

She laughed harder, reaching with her other hand to his arm to steady herself as they stopped before the bar. “Stop - stop - I can’t,” she told him through breathless laughter. “Oh man, after watching you and Edward do your best to crush John’s fingers, I can’t take the teasing.”

He feigned innocence, placing a hand over his chest. “I didn’t do it, lass, I swear -”

“Oh  _ please _ ,” she quipped, dragging out the word. “It was obvious. But,” she looked down and squeezed where she held his arm, “thank you, Ry. I felt better with you standing next to me.”

“Of course, Abigail,” he assured her. “I agreed to be your armor, and that’s what I’ll be. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your side, all night.”

“I - th-thank you,” she demurred, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and looking over the selection behind the bar. When the bartender stepped forward to greet her, she smiled and tried to focus on them instead of the feeling almost like tingling warmth running through her at his words. “I’m - Abigail Henderson, Connie Baker should have given my name -”

The bartender nodded and reached beneath the bar, pulling out two purple rubber bracelets. Abby passed one to Rylen before she looked over the liquor selection again. Beside her, Rylen ordered a whiskey neat, but she pursed her lips, trying to decide.

“What is it, lass?” he asked as he waited for his drink.

“I don’t know, this crowd usually - I always got wine or something to seem more - respectable,” she told him. “Now, I mean - I don’t care about that, but old habits die hard. I just - actually I kind of feel like celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” he prompted, quirking one dark eyebrow as he accepted his drink.

“Yeah, I - I dunno,” she said with a shrug. “I just feel happy, and want to - celebrate that I do.”

“What can I get for you, Miss Henderson?” the bartender asked again.

“Can I get a glass of Veuve Clicquot Brut Rosé, please?” she requested, and the bartender nodded and stepped away to find a bottle.

“Vooove cleekoh brooo rosaaay?” Rylen repeated, and Abby giggled at his exaggerated pronunciation.

“Champagne,” she explained. “Like I said, I feel like celebrating. It’s a - happy night. Here, honoring Mom’s memory at a charity event, all dolled up, and you - I mean, I’m happy you’re here, is all.”

The slow smile and gleam in his eye that met her words made her cheeks heat. She gratefully accepted the drink from the bartender before she turned away from the bar - and Rylen’s piercing gaze. He stepped beside her and held an arm out once more.

“Shall we find our places, lass?”

Accepting his arm and letting him lead her felt natural, her mind spinning too much to protest. She avoided glancing the direction she knew, could  _ feel _ John staring at her from, and instead focused on scanning the tables with Rylen to find their spots. Once they’d reached the head table, Rylen pulled her chair out, waiting until she was seated before he helped push it in. He took his seat beside her, sipping his whiskey as he placed his arm on the back of her chair.

A waiter came by, offering them hors d’oeuvres, and they both readily accepted. Rylen studied his mini brie and fig tart before taking a bite, and his eyebrows raised with appreciation as he chewed. Abby nibbled at the crostini she had grabbed, and when she caught Rylen’s eye she saw him watching her with interest.

“What?” she asked once she’d swallowed.

“You’re different here,” he mused, frowning slightly.

“Is that - bad?” she asked hesitantly, unsure what to make of the observation.

“I’m not certain, to be honest,” he answered with a shrug. “You seem - more reserved. Less you.”

“I -” she began but immediately trailed off, staring at him wide-eyed before she set her half-eaten crostini on her plate and picked up her flute of rosé. “I guess I just - slipped so easily back into what it used to be like.”

“With John?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Are you - all right? With him being here? Or is that why you’re acting so - proper?” he asked, frowning more deeply as he took a sip of whiskey. But his arm around the back of her chair almost seemed to tighten, so that he was closer to actually holding her, and she felt as if he was trying to envelope her - protect her.

“I’m - fine,” she answered, but she drank once more from her glass and took a moment to savor the bubbles as they tickled her tongue. “That is - I suppose - maybe I feel a bit like everyone’s eyes are on me. I mean this crowd, everyone here - they all know me as his wife. And now here I am - and there he is. I feel like I need to be - perfect. So they don’t question why.”

Rylen moved the arm he had around her, resting his hand instead on the cool skin of her back, stroking her slowly, reassuring her with the weight and heat of his hand. “Abigail - none of these people, save for Connie and your lawyer, have done anything to help you,” he pointed out softly. “If you aren’t perfect without him, if you don’t live up to their batty standards - do you really care? You’re the kind of lass who doesn’t give a damn about that, normally. Why care tonight?”

Abby glanced up at him, drinking in the sight of him looking at her so tenderly, and a smile began to tug up the corners of her mouth. “You’re - you’re right,” she agreed finally. “Maybe I used to know these people, but now - they may as well be strangers.”

“Aye, there’s a lass,” he told her again, and he continued stroking her back for a moment before he returned his arm to the back of her chair. Taking a sip of his whiskey he looked out casually over the ballroom, the way he was lounging in his chair full of easy confidence making her giggle. “What?”

“I just - I was right to say you’d be my armor,” she mused. “You reminding me not to give a shit - that’s exactly what I needed.”

“Any time,” he assured her, and one corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk when he looked back to her. “After all, I’ll do anything you need me to.”

“I - thank you, Ry,” she said. “Really.”

She looked back down at her hands, sipping from her drink as if she could hide the way she must surely seem flustered. He kept saying things like that -  _ ‘any time, lass’ - ‘anything for you’ - ‘I’ll do anything you need me to.’ _

It wasn’t that she wanted him to, wasn’t that she needed him to prove that he would. She took him at his word, trusted that he meant it, and that was almost more terrifying to her than a need for him to show her.

Any further discussion was lost to them by the other guests of honor taking their seats at the table, and stilted introductions distracted Abby from her line of thought. Instead she found herself smiling brightly in the faces of people who gave she and Rylen odd looks for their prominent tattoos, bolstered by what he had just said to her and feeling close to daring them to actually say anything. To her pleasant surprise they seemed to regather their senses quickly and ask her instead about her story, about who she had lost to pancreatic cancer.

And over that detail, that shared experience, they all began to bond despite their different stations or other experiences with life.

Once their first course was being served, Rylen excused himself, pushing himself to his feet and buttoning his jacket naturally as he did. When he caught Abby’s curious glance, he smiled and gestured to their empty glasses. “Getting us another round, lass, that’s all,” he explained.

“Can you pronounce it correctly?” she teased, unable to resist.

“Oh, aye, laugh it up,” he told her, and he rolled his eyes. But as he chuckled he bent and pressed his lips to the top of her head before straightening once more. “I’ll try my best to bring back the right drink.”

A slew of giggles slipped from her throat before she could stop herself. He grinned broadly, then turned and walked away in the direction of the bar.

“How long have you two been together?”

Abby turned to the honoree beside her, mouth opening to answer but struggling on the words for a moment before she cleared her throat. “We’re - ah - just friends, he just - came as my date tonight,” Abby told the woman.

The honoree laughed, shaking her head as she clasped her hands in her lap. From what she had told them, she had lost her husband of over fifty years to the disease, and she had also been watching Abby carefully ever since she sat down. “Oh, if that’s what you need to tell yourself,” she finally replied. “But trust me - you’re kidding yourselves. A man like that doesn’t mince words or play games - and he definitely doesn’t want to ‘just be friends.’ He reminds me of my Norman. Cocky rascal that he was.”

Abby giggled at the words even as she flushed, fidgeting with her hair as if she needed to refix it. “I - um, I mean to say -”

“No need to explain,” the woman said, and she nearly cackled when Abby looked up at her again. “He’s your date for the evening, and - it seems to be going well. I’m glad. You’re both too young to miss the opportunity.”

“I - you’re - making good points, even though I want to deny it all,” Abby mused honestly, and then she laughed softly for a few more moments. “Whatever we are, you’re right - it’s going well, and I’m having a good time.”

“Good,” the woman agreed. “Life’s too short for denial and refusing what’s in front of you.”

Abby opened her mouth to reply, but Connie stepped up to the microphone on the stage to begin greeting the crowd, and silence settled throughout the ballroom. Turning her attention to the stage, Abby watched the beginning of the speeches and ceremony, occasionally nibbling at the salad before her.

Although the woman was nice, she was glad she was being saved the trouble of engaging with her any longer - because her words were hitting too close to home, again. All evening she had been conscious of it, the discomposing yet exhilarating combination of Rylen’s nearness and her intense awareness of it - hell, she had been conscious of that for weeks now. She had just been in a position to ignore it. Having someone notice and point it out was making her mind race, her heart tripping over itself as she considered everything.

Rylen returned to her side quietly, passing her a glass of sparkling light rosy liquid, and she met him with a smile. She tried to banish what the woman had just been saying, but just as with Connie’s musings of feeling happy, the words were echoing through her mind.

_ A man like that doesn’t mince words or play games - and he definitely doesn’t want to just be friends. _

The arrival of their main course, the drudgery of speeches by the keynote speaker and others were welcome distractions. They needed to be quiet, and so she and Rylen couldn’t do more than smile or wink at one another, gesturing silently at their food or making brief, passing murmurs about something around them. It helped Abby both reflect on what she was feeling while also trying to do her best to ignore it, avoiding the gaze of the woman beside her and attempting not to linger on the way Rylen looked at her almost too much.

Once the main part of the ceremony had ended, a DJ set up in one corner at his booth and began to play the standard fare of songs to dance to at these sorts of events. The crowd began to talk, the volume of the room rising as those who were finished with their food stood to mingle, some heading for the bar, others to the dance floor. Beside her Rylen took a sip of his whiskey, leaning away from his finished dinner plate.

“Well, now what, lass?” he asked.

“You never met Jessica, did you?” she said, realizing that he had been speaking with Edward before John had interrupted them.

“No, I didn’t - I was listening about the history of tattoos in your - er, in history,” he caught himself, and he winked when she widened her eyes at him. “I’d love to meet her, though, tell her thank you for what she’s done for you.”

“You don’t - have to keep - um,” Abby said, but she drained the rest of her drink and began to push her chair back. “Well, let’s go find her. I feel like walking around some anyway.”

Rylen stood from the table as well, and again he held his arm out for her. She took it and smiled, then began to look over the crowd to find Jessica. When she spotted her she squeezed Rylen’s arm and led the way, weaving through the crowd until they stopped beside where Jessica was speaking with Connie and Edward.

“Jessica, I realized I never introduced you to my good friend, Rylen,” Abby said when the woman turned to greet her and let the pair into their little circle.

Rylen held his hand out, smiling brightly as Jessica took it. “I’ve heard a great deal, I know I at least am grateful how much you’ve helped her.”

“Oh, well, it’s been my pleasure,” Jessica agreed as she released Rylen’s hand. Her eyes flicked over his face for only a moment, but just as Connie she didn’t miss a beat and easily returned his smile.

“Ah! My dear new friend,” Edward greeted Rylen when he saw them standing near. “Excellent, now I’ll have someone to talk to while you run around and do your gracious hostess bit, sweetheart. Good luck. That was all so well done,” he kissed Connie on the cheek, “I’m so proud of you. Now go do your best getting these people to part with more money for the cause.”

Connie giggled and shook her head, but she kissed Edward on the cheek before she turned away. She caught sight of Abby and seemed to hesitate, and then a smile came across her face. “Abby, I - hate to ask, but - would you mind making the rounds with me?” she suggested. “People will want to hear your story anyway, but you could do it with me making sure -”

“Making sure I’m not bothered by a certain someone?” Abby interrupted, and she giggled. “Plus maybe I’ll tug their heartstrings so they’ll open their wallets?”

Connie shrugged slightly and continued smiling. “I’d call all of that a win-win. No pressure, of course, but -”

“Connie, I’d love to help,” Abby hurried to assure her. “Ry, do you - do you mind?”

“No, not at all, lass,” he answered. “Edward and I were interrupted earlier, and if you have something you need to do, go do it. If you need me, I’m here.”

Abby hesitated for a moment, looking between Rylen, Edward, and Jessica, but then she nodded and squeezed Rylen’s arm before releasing it. “Thanks, Ry,” she told him, and she turned to link arms with Connie instead.

They began making their way through the crowd, occasionally stopped by attendees to speak, to talk about the ceremony, the speeches, Abby’s story, and the research being done by the foundation. Occasionally instead Connie stopped someone she knew, greeting them and discussing the charity with them. Connie handled most of the conversations, especially at first, Abby simply answering questions as they were put to her. Once she was more at ease, though, she readily volunteered more information, speaking plainly about her struggles with her mother’s illness at such a young age.

“Thank you so much for coming, we appreciate your support,” Connie said, inclining her head before she led Abby away from yet another group of attendees they had been speaking with. “Let’s take a break, grab a drink.”

“Sounds good, I could use one,” Abby agreed. Connie led Abby to the bar, and the bartender nodded a greeting and hurried to grab their drinks.

“Listen, I hope you don’t feel put on the spot, I just -” Connie began, but Abby shook her head.

“Connie, I knew what coming to an event as a guest of honor would mean,” Abby interrupted with a reassuring smile. “I want this to be a success as well, and if I can help out to repay you, I will.”

“You don’t owe me,” Connie told her. “I told you once you helped free me, and I wanted to do the same for you. I meant it. This has all been my way of repaying you, actually.”

Abby laughed and sipped at her drink for a moment as she thought. “I never in a million years thought we’d become friends,” she confessed. “I figured you hated my guts.”

“Maybe at first,” Connie admitted. She drank in silence for a moment as she looked over the bustling room. “But then I started to realize we’d been unhappy for years. We’d been together so long, it was just - habit. Comfortable, but not as it should be. It wasn’t love anymore, at least not like that. Once I started realizing that, well - it was easier to forgive you and instead start to think maybe you had helped me.”

“I - wow,” Abby muttered, and she drained half of her glass in one gulp. “You’re a better person than me. I definitely still hate Jenna’s guts.”

“Well, that’s a little different,” Connie pointed out. “You two were actually happy, or at least  _ you _ were. Maybe one day you’ll be able to see things the way I do, though.”

“Give me a few years,” Abby muttered, but she laughed along with Connie as they looked out at the crowd. “Thank you for handling John showing up, by the way. You did it with far more grace than I would have managed without you.”

Connie smirked and glanced to where John was standing with a group, talking and laughing and seeming perfectly at ease. But as if he could sense they were speaking of him or had simply been looking their way often, his gaze moved automatically to where they stood by the bar. Upon being caught looking he shifted his weight on his feet and then returned his attention to the conversation he was engaged in.

“I’m sorry he did, I should have realized he’d do something like this,” Connie said. “After what you told me happened, well. He’s not one to take no for an answer.”

“You’re telling me,” Abby groused, and she finished her drink before turning back to the bartender to ask for another. “It’s fine though. Whatever.”

“He looks like he’s pouting,” Connie mused, and they both began to laugh. “He seemed particularly upset to meet Edward and Rylen, poor dear,” she continued, her tone dripping with sarcastic sympathy.

“No, just upset about his fingers since I think they both did their best to crush them,” Abby told her. Shaking her head, she turned more serious. “You know him - how dare we both be here, moving on and happy without him.”

Connie giggled and took a sip of her drink before she glanced sidelong at where Abby was accepting another flute of rosé. “Yes, you seem to be moving on very well,” Connie pointed out. “And Rylen seems thoroughly smitten, I mean the way he looks at you - are you okay?”

Abby continued coughing, covering her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the way she had just spluttered and choked on her drink in response to Connie’s words. “I’m - I’m fine,” she finally muttered, coughing a few more times. “Just - went down the wrong way.”

Connie frowned a little, watching Abby closely as she continued trying to recover. “I’m sorry, did I - I know you were introducing him as your friend, and I understand why considering the divorce is still not final, but -”

“No, we’re not - we’re not together,” Abby interjected, but she said it almost too quickly, and Connie was still watching her carefully. “I just - I - oh fuck it I don’t even know anymore. It was the last thing on my mind, all things considered. And now it’s - the only thing on my mind.”

“Ah,” Connie mused softly, the realization dawning on her face. “You really aren’t together. But - well. Just give it time, there’s no rush.”

Abby looked away from the knowing look of her friend beside her, and her eyes were drawn instinctively to the tall form across the ballroom from her. Rylen was standing with his hands in his pockets, Edward and Jessica speaking together beside him. Before Rylen was a short, red-haired woman who was speaking animatedly. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and if Abby wasn’t mistaken she almost seemed like she was - preening.

Flirting.

For several moments, Abby simply stared at how the woman was standing so close to Rylen, giggling as she spoke with him. A painful knot formed in the pit of Abby’s stomach, her heart suddenly racing as she watched Rylen smile and answer the woman’s chatting. When the woman stepped slightly closer and brushed her fingers along his upper arm, Abby clutched the flute she held more tightly, a scowl coming across her face.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she gritted out, trying to say it politely but struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice as she set her unfinished drink on the bar behind her. Connie simply quirked an eyebrow at her but nodded, and Abby began to weave her way through the crowd to cross the ballroom without another word.

“That is so interesting!” the young woman’s high-pitched voice carried back to her as Abby got closer. “Ooh, say, um - Loch, or Nessie - have you been there by the way? Or wait, say  _ lass _ -”

“Ry,” Abby interrupted. Smiling softly, she slipped her arm around him to tuck herself intimately into his side, placing her other hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry I left you all alone for so long,” she told him, batting her eyelashes when he glanced down at her, “but I’m glad to see you making friends.”

As she said the last bit she turned her face to the other woman, holding her gaze with a slightly challenging smile. She didn’t stop to think why it thrilled her to see the way the woman almost seemed upset at her sudden appearance. All she knew was how her heart soared at the way Rylen’s whole face seemed to light up when he realized she was by his side again.

“Aye,” Rylen answered her, and he smiled as he removed his hand from his pocket and instead placed it on the bared small of her back once more. “I was just explaining how obscure my hometown is to - uh -”

“Vanessa,” the redhead said, but she looked between Rylen and Abby for a moment as if unsure. “I’m just so fascinated by Scotland, I was hoping he could tell me more about the Highlands - I mean I watched Outlander, and -”

“Oh, but Ry, we haven’t danced yet,” Abby told him, peering up at him imploringly. “Can I steal you away? Connie and I are taking a break from work, and the DJ has been really good.”

“Whatever my bonny lass wishes,” Rylen answered readily, and he began to guide her toward the dance floor. “It was nice speaking with you, but if you’ll excuse us.”

It was good timing to move to the dance floor, as if the DJ had conspired with Abby to give her a cover for how she had hurried to Rylen’s side to pull him away from his admirer. Several more couples made their way to the dance floor as well, hoping to take advantage of the new romantic song being played, rotating in place once they found space.

Rylen took Abby by the hand, pulling her into his arms and placing one hand on her back to hold her to him as he began to lead her in the dance. The night they had danced in the apartment came back to Abby, remembering how easily he had spun her around their small living room to music played on her phone. Only now, they were wearing clothing more befitting the dance, in a location better than their cramped apartment. They moved gracefully, cutting their way across the dance floor, dancing fluidly together as if they were one.

_ “ _ _ Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms, barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song. When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath, but you heard it - darling, you look perfect tonight.” _

The song was one Abby liked despite herself, the sort of song she called cheesy but then hit repeat on when no one else was around. Now, though, it was making her flush, her heart racing as she thought about how aware she was of his hands on her, holding her close as he guided her around the floor. When she glanced up at him and met his gaze, she was surprised to see how closely he was watching her, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m glad now that my sisters taught me how to dance,” he murmured, and he easily spun her in place before pulling her back into his embrace. “I would have practiced more diligently if I’d known I’d get to dance with such a beautiful lass one day.”

“You’re - you’re doing fine,” Abby assured him before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Better than me, at least -”

“No, lass - you’re an excellent dancer,” he told her, and he winked when she glanced up at him again. “Besides, all that matters is that we’re having a good time. Together.”

_ “Darling, just hold my hand. Be my girl, I'll be your man. I see my future in your eyes.” _

“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms,” Abby continued with the song softly under her breath, but she caught herself. With a furtive look up at Rylen she saw him still watching her intently.

“Keep singing, Abigail,” he said. “Your voice is sweet, and this song - I like it.”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, I - I didn’t realize I was singing, I -” Trailing off she focused instead on how close they were, and she tightened where she held his bicep. She wanted to lean into him, rest her cheek on his chest and stay that way for the rest of the night, simply swaying and letting him twirl her around the dance floor. But she resisted the urge, instead satisfying herself with how close they were. He continued leading her in sweeping steps around the floor until she felt fairly certain people were stopping around the space to watch them.

_ “I have faith in what I see, now I know I have met an angel in person and she looks perfect. I don't deserve this -” _

“You look perfect tonight,” Rylen sang softly as the song ended, and Abby glanced up at him surprised. He was staring down at her, that intense look still in his eyes, and she nearly shivered under his careful regard.

They had slowed, but hadn’t separated, and she felt his fingers tighten where he held her, pulling her closer to him. The moment had been perfect, the song, dancing in his arms - it was everything she wanted. She frowned slightly, opening her mouth to tell him so.

“May I cut in?”

The deep voice snapped Abby out of her pleasant thoughts, and she turned her head quickly to look at the intruder.

“J-John, I -” Abby stuttered out. She didn’t step away from Rylen, rather she almost stepped closer to him, one hand still resting on his upper arm where she had held it as they danced, her other held tenderly in his larger hand. For once she didn’t feel caught, instead she felt as if the one out of place and interloping in this situation was John - not Rylen.

“Please, can’t a man ask to dance with his wife? You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, Abby,” John said, standing so that he was facing only Abby, as if Rylen wasn’t still holding her in his arms.

“Jesus Christ, John,” Abby muttered, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe him. “You really just can’t -”

But she cut off her words when a new song began, the familiar notes washing over her until she felt practically hurled back into the past.

_ “L - is for the way you look, at me. O - is for the only one I see -” _

“You son of a bitch,” Abby breathed, eyes narrowing as she met his piercing grey gaze. “Did you -”

“I requested it, I thought maybe - just a dance, Abby, like we once did,” he implored her.

Abby finally stepped out of Rylen’s arms, and John smiled as he watched her, as if hoping it meant she would accept the hand he was holding out for her. The hand that bore his platinum wedding band. 

Instead she shook her head and fixed him with her best withering glare. “You’re pathetic, John,” she hissed. “I meant every word I said - we’re done, no matter how many romantic gestures you think you can pull to change my mind. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

She let her eyes wander over him scathingly one last time before she turned on the spot and marched away from him, holding the skirt of her dress so that she didn’t trip on the flowy length in her haste to escape the ballroom. Behind her she heard long, quick strides, but she recognized the gait and felt comforted by the sound.

There were large doors on one side of the ballroom that led out to a beautiful courtyard, and Abby headed for them, suddenly in desperate need of some fresh air. Once outside she finally slowed, releasing the silk of her skirt as she crossed to the short stone wall that lined the large patio and separated it from the rest of the courtyard below. Leaning her elbows on the cold stone she let out a slow sigh and hung her head, taking a deep breath to try to calm the way her whole body was shaking.

“Abigail, are you all right?” Rylen asked, and again the warm weight of his hand on her back worked to ground her, quieting her nerves slightly as he rubbed gentle circles on her skin.

“I’m - I’m fine, really,” she answered after a moment. Raising her gaze to his she gave a reassuring smile. “And that’s the truth. I’m just angry, but I’ll - I’ll be fine in a minute. Just - what a  _ dick _ .”

Rylen chuckled and nodded, leaning on his elbows beside her as well, his arm resting casually against hers. “Aye, that - I take it that song has meaning?”

“Our first dance, at our wedding,” Abby told him, and then sighed. “I should have known he’d pull something, but still - didn’t make it easier when he did.”

“What - what did you mean, when you told him you meant every word you said?” he asked softly. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand, I just -”

Abby reached a hand to where his were clasped over the edge of the stone, and squeezed his interlaced fingers gently. “I don’t mind telling you,” she said, and smiled when she met his gaze. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened at that settlement meeting, it just - I don’t know why. But he asked me to lunch, and I went because I thought maybe if I let him have his say, he’d agree to just sign the papers.”

“But he didn’t?” Rylen prompted.

“Nope,” Abby answered with another deep sigh. “He asked me to take him back, spun this story about still loving me, and I just - I told him no. I told him he fucked me over and we’ll never be able to get back to what we were. I’m done.”

“He might mean it, lass,” he said softly, but his brows were furrowed deeply and he couldn’t meet her gaze as he said it.

“I don’t give a damn if he does,” Abby gritted out without hesitation. “He hurt me, and I - I don’t love him anymore. I don’t want to be married to him anymore, I want to - I want to move on.”

She trailed off, a slightly awkward silence overtaking them. With a frown she thought about why she hadn’t told him what had happened, why she hadn’t confided that John had asked for her to give them another chance. But as she thought about it, as she thought about everything Connie and the other honoree had said, the way she had felt when she saw another woman flirting with Rylen, the way it had felt to dance in his arms, she realized exactly why.

She hadn’t wanted him to think there was a chance she would go back, because it would maybe make him think there wasn’t a chance - for the two of them.

The realization struck her so that she felt speechless, staring up at the bright moon above them, trying to work through every feeling and thought that was racing across her mind.

“I’m sorry he tried that, lass,” Rylen finally said. “He -”

“Ry,” she interrupted, and she turned to face him. “I don’t - I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I - I want…”

Rylen glanced to the side, a small frown quirking his brows as his eyes wandered over her face. He turned slightly as well, shifting the way he was leaning so that he was only on one elbow, his other hand reaching for hers. “What, lass?”

“I want to move on,” she told him honestly. “Put my past behind me, focus on the future. I - I just - we don’t need to talk about him. Not - not with you. I don’t want  _ us _ to revolve around - him.”

She frowned and then looked down, shaking her head. She felt like she was rambling, but didn’t know how else to phrase it.

“Abigail…”

“Sorry, I just - I’m all out of sorts,” she muttered. “We were having such a nice time -”

“I still am,” he assured her. “I always have the best time when I’m with you, whatever we're doing.”

She had hardly noticed it, but he was closer to her, leaning toward her. When she glanced up, his face was much closer than it had been before, and her heart leapt into her throat. “I - Ry, I -”

“Because you're - my lass,” he murmured, and he brushed her hair behind one ear, his face so close it was taking up all of her vision.

Her heart was pounding, her breath catching in her throat, and all she knew was that this - this was what she wanted. The feeling of his breath on her lips as he leaned closer, the way she could taste it, the way she was almost tingling from his proximity, his lips just about to brush hers. He was moving so slowly, as if making sure he wasn’t pushing too far, hesitant and unsure it was what he should be doing.

It was, though, her fingers tightening where they rested on the stone ledge, lips parting slightly as she anticipated what it would be like to feel his mouth on hers.

But suddenly a thought tore through her mind -

_ John is here. _

“Ry, we - we can’t,” she breathed, closing her eyes and biting her lip. She looked down, turning her face slightly away from him. “I’m so sorry. I say all that, I tell you I want - I’m sorry, I just - John is here, it could hurt my case if he sees -”

“No, Abigail, I’m - I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, and he straightened and pulled away from her. “I know all of that, I know you can’t, that things are complicated. I shouldn’t - I know I can’t hope for,” he sighed and dragged a hand down his chin, “I shouldn’t have.”

“Ry,” she whispered, and she reached a hand to his arm, squeezing gently and rubbing her thumb where it rested. When he looked at her, she gave him a small smile. “I didn’t say never.”

He smiled sadly, nodding his head and looking away again. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was feeling he kept to himself, staring out over the courtyard as if trying to compose himself once more.

A part of Abby wanted to cry, wanted to rage at the way such a perfect evening had been ruined. Wanted to wallow in the fact that her life was still too complicated, and she couldn’t have the thing she desired more than she had realized until tonight.

Would there come a time he decided he didn’t want to wait any longer, that she came with too much baggage and he was better off moving on?

Her lips tightened as she looked out over the courtyard as well, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. She took deep breaths, trying to overcome the emotions and thoughts crashing through her mind. Finally she cleared her throat and looked behind them into the ballroom. “Come on, let’s - let’s go back in, pretend we’re still having a good time together like this didn’t - ruin things,” she said quietly. “Maybe they’ll play the Electric Slide and I can teach it to you.”

It said a lot about the mood between them that he didn’t immediately ask her what the Electric Slide was, that instead he stared for a moment over the courtyard before he nodded. “Aye, Abigail, after you,” he agreed, and her heart tugged at the soft strain she heard in his voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I solemnly swear - this is the ONE instance of a legit slow burn tease within this fic. Cross my heart and kiss my elbow.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara
> 
> P.S. Hope you enjoyed it ;-)


	16. Plans Gone Wrong - Or Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok last chapter was a monster, and this one was actually meant to be split into two chapters. But once I wrote them out I realized they work well as one chapter, so - hooray! A bigger update than originally planned!
> 
> One of my regrets with this fic is how I did text messages as just italics. But apologies, I'm too lazy at the moment to reformat it throughout the fic, so...hope parts of this chapter aren't too annoying to read.
> 
> Enjoy ;-)

“Hey - hey, man - Rylen, what the hell -”

“Not now, mate.”

“What the hell? You never snap at the guys, what’s going on -”

“Get back to work, lad -”

“Come on, talk to me.”

Rylen stopped in his tracks finally, realizing Russ wasn’t going to give up. With an irritated sigh that came out as half-growl he turned to face the younger lad, who was standing with his hands on his hips as he frowned up at him.

“Headache, that’s all,” Rylen lied.

“Yeah right,” Russ said. “Tell me what’s up, man. Didn’t you - you guys had plans last night, right? I thought you’d be - I don’t know, in a better mood, maybe?”

Rylen dragged a hand down his chin, rubbing at the light layer of stubble he had. He hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning, hadn’t wanted to stay in the apartment any longer than he had to after he had woken up. The sight of Abigail sleeping on the sofa, one hand hanging over the side, had been too much to wake to, too painful - too tempting. He had tenderly taken her fingers in his and pressed a kiss to them before he got up to dress for the day, noticing how she only barely stirred, a soft smile coming to her face.

_I didn’t say never._

“Still there?”

Rylen glanced back down at Russ and shook his head. The lad wouldn’t stop until he told him what had happened. “It was...fuck,” he growled. He turned to absently pound the side of his fist a few times on a steel beam beside them as he thought about it.

“Something go wrong?” Russ asked, taking a few steps forward.

“It was all perfect,” Rylen answered. “I mean - Russ, the dress she was wearing, the way she was smiling. She asked me to be her armor for the night, she was relying on me. Even when her husband showed up -”

“That fucker was _there_?” Russ interjected indignantly.

“Aye, Abigail hinted he knew she’d be there, he got cagey like she was right,” Rylen told him. “But she ignored him. She took my arm and we walked away, she was - I think she was happy. I slipped up and kissed the top of her head once, and she just giggled. Later another lass was talking to me, but Abigail came over and asked me to dance, and -”

“Like she was jealous?” Russ mused with a chuckle.

“Aye, perhaps,” Rylen answered with a shrug. “And the song - it was everything I wanted to say to her. How beautiful she was, how much she means to me, how I see a future with her - and she was still smiling so much, singing along like she thought it too. Holding me tight like she was content to be in my arms.”

After a few moments of silence Russ folded his arms. “So then - why are you so angry today?” he prompted.

“When the song ended, I was going to tell her - that she was perfect, or - _something_ ,” Rylen said. “Before I had a chance to, her husband interrupted. Asked to dance with her, he’d requested some song that they danced to at their wedding.”

“Did she?” Russ asked hesitantly, as if he was scared of the answer.

“No,” Rylen told him. “She walked away, she was angry. I followed her, and she told me that he’d asked her to give him another chance, that he had said he still loved her. She - hadn’t told me that, and I thought maybe…” He shook his head and used a hand to adjust the hard hat he wore. “But then she told me - she mentioned _us_ , like she - wants there to be something more. And I - I was caught up in the moment, the way she was looking at me, and I - tried to kiss her.”

“So you - you did kiss her? Or -”

“No,” Rylen muttered. “Right as I was about to she stopped it, said if her husband saw it could cause problems. But the worst part was, I could tell she wanted me to. She was leaning into me, tilting her head up - if he hadn’t been there, we would have - I could have told her…” He trailed off again, unable to put it into words, to say it out loud.

“Shit,” Russ muttered. He turned and leaned back against one of the steel beams as he considered. “Did she - say anything? I mean you guys talked, right?”

“She told me that she didn’t mean ‘never,’” Rylen said with a sigh. “Then we went inside, and tried to act like none of that had just happened. When we got back to the apartment, we - were silent, and just went to bed. I almost thought,” he paused, trying to remember, “I almost thought at one point I heard her crying, but I - I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t know what to do, for once.”

Russ let out a low whistle. “That’s rough, man,” he commented. “But I mean - it was just where you were, so maybe later? Another time? Like tonight -”

“No, she works tonight,” Rylen pointed out. “I need to just keep waiting, until it's all over and she's free. It isn’t fair to the lass -”

“Hey, Scottie!”

Rylen glanced over, squinting in the sunlight so that he could see who had called him. One of the other workers was waving and then gestured at a tall figure standing on the other side of the chain link fence. “Maker’s balls,” Rylen muttered.

“Is that -”

“Her husband? Aye,” Rylen told Russ. They exchanged a look and then Rylen pushed himself away from where he’d been leaning. He sauntered over, taking long strides, calming and collecting himself with deep, controlled breaths.

A jealous husband was nothing compared to a Harrowing.

“John,” he greeted slowly when he stopped by the fence.

“Rylen,” John returned, inclining his head before he raised his gaze to the steel beams high above Rylen’s head. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, feet braced apart, and seemed to have no intention to speak again for the moment.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rylen finally prompted.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about this project, thought I’d come by and see it for myself,” John mused. “What a marvel, the things we can do -”

“Why don’t we drop the act,” Rylen interrupted. John lowered his gaze once more, quirking a brow slightly when Rylen smirked lazily at him. “We both know you’re not here to see the construction.”

For a moment John simply held his gaze, but then he chuckled and nodded. “True. We’re both - too direct for small talk, it seems,” he agreed. “Well, then, I just had a question for you. As a direct sort of man, I was hoping you’d give me a straight answer.”

“Ask away. But I can’t guarantee I’ll answer if I don’t want to,” Rylen told him. He folded his arms, waiting patiently, his mind calm and blank. He knew his own limits, knew what he wouldn’t tell him, but there was no need to be antagonistic about it.

Or at least, not yet.

John considered him before he shrugged. “All right, I suppose.” He paused and stared for a moment longer before an almost incredulous, challenging smile spread across his face. “Are you sleeping with my wife, Rylen?”

Rylen raised his eyebrows, holding the other man’s gaze in silence before he answered. “No, I’m not,” he told him honestly.

“Really?” John asked, sounding skeptical. “You’re living with her, aren’t you?” At Rylen’s silent nod he continued. “Living that close with a woman, especially one that beautiful - and you’re telling me you haven’t tried? Don’t spend your nights convincing her to spread her legs for you so you can fuck her -”

“No, I don’t,” Rylen interrupted, tone lowering as he felt anger twisting his insides. “Some of us understand boundaries, _mate_.”

John glared at him for a moment before he scoffed quietly. “Boundaries? Does that explain why you had your hands all over her last night, trying to kiss her?”

Rylen’s heart sped up slightly at the words, confirming his suspicions that perhaps Abigail had been right to worry John would see, that she had been right to stop them. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because John suddenly chuckled.

“Ahhh,” John hummed. “You didn’t think I saw? Of course I watched, I was concerned after seeing you paw at her on the dance floor like you owned her -”

“Listen here, mate,” Rylen interjected, stepping forward and scowling at the other man. “I don’t own her. You don’t own her. In fact, she’s trying her best to get away from you, isn’t she?”

“She’s just angry, it will pass. It would pass faster if you would stop pursuing her -” John began, but Rylen cut him off with several sharp barks of laughter.

“I’m not the one standing in the way of your schemes,” he pointed out. “The lass is done with you. You know it’s funny, seeing you here, accusing me of stealing your wife away from you. You’re the one who broke the marriage vows. Long before I even met Abigail, if I recall correctly.”

He noticed the way John seemed to scowl further at the use of the name, and he wondered at the reaction. “My marriage is none of your business,” he hissed.

“If you’re here accusing me of sleeping with your wife, I’d say it is,” Rylen mused. “Since you’re the one who had another lass, though, I’m not certain why you’re on your high horse about what she’s up to now.”

“She’s still my wife,” John insisted, scowling at Rylen through the fence. He slowly seemed to be losing his composure, turning slightly red from the effort of holding back. “And I won’t let some Scottish thug have what’s mine -”

Rylen stepped even closer to the fence, letting his eyes narrow dangerously. There it was again, the insistence that Abigail belonged to him - like she was a possession her husband had bought at the market. “She isn’t yours. And maybe thinking about her like something to be owned is why you lost her, John,” he gritted out. “And once she’s free of you for good, what she does and who she _chooses_ won’t be up to you at all.”

John continued to glower at him for a moment, as if stunned by Rylen daring to chastise him. “Why does she let you call her Abigail?” he asked suddenly.

Rylen frowned, trying to determine the cause of the abrupt question. But he shrugged, realizing he didn’t fully know himself - and he certainly didn’t understand why it would bother the other man so much. “She’s never told me not to.”

“And why - why would she allow you that if you aren’t fucking her? She doesn’t let anyone call her that,” John told him, his words coming out clipped and harsh.

Rylen thought for a moment, then decided he couldn’t resist getting in another dig. “Maybe it’s been a long time since someone’s treated her with respect and like she’s a person,” he mused. “Or maybe she’s simply happier these days.”

“You presumptuous shit - how dare you -”

“How dare I what?” Rylen challenged. “You’ve done nothing but treat her like a blasted toy, to be yanked around however you please. You don’t deserve a lass like her -”

“Oh, and you think you do?” John snapped, his voice rising. “Some tattooed thug, scarred up like a damn criminal she picked up off the streets - is that what really happened? How is it you suddenly came to live with her, huh? How can I be sure you haven’t been forc -”

“Listen here, mate - I’ve had enough of your blasted accusations -”

“And I’ve had enough of you hanging around my -”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Rylen took a step back from the fence and dragged a hand angrily over his mouth, as if he had to physically hold back the arguments he wanted to continue flinging at the other man. Hank stopped beside him, looking between Rylen and John for a moment.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No, Hank, no problem,” Rylen answered. He scowled at John and then shook his head. Before he could say anything more, Hank patted him on the arm.

“Back to work, MacCallum,” he said and then glanced at John. “If there’s not a problem, sir, I’d please ask that you leave. We have a lot to do today, and I’d appreciate it if my workers weren’t distracted while they’re in a hard hat zone.”

“Of course,” John gritted out, and he forced a polite smile that looked more like a grimace. “I apologize for the interruption, just had a - personal matter to discuss.”

“Yeah, well, on your own time,” Hank told him. “Come on - got a moment? We need to discuss the schedule for the holiday weekend.” This last was directed at Rylen, and without another glance at John, Hank beckoned Rylen to follow him towards the office.

Rylen met John’s cold grey eyes one last time, and a moment of seething anger passed between them before he turned on his heel and followed Hank.

“Sorry, hope that guy wasn’t giving you trouble,” Hank told him once he fell into step beside him. “He wasn’t here asking about your immigration status, was he? Jesus that’s the last thing we’d need -”

“No, it was - about something else,” Rylen muttered.

“Things looked heated, everything okay?” Hank asked, concern furrowing his brows.

“Aye, aye, just - a disagreement,” he answered. “It’s nothing, really. Apologies for disrupting the work -”

“Oh that was just an excuse to get the guy to buzz off,” Hank told him with a laugh. “Figured he was asking about your status, dressed up in a suit like that. Suits make me nervous around here, we have too many - under the table deals with our workers, you know?”

Rylen nodded absently, letting his mind wander as Hank continued his musings on ‘suits.’ Too many thoughts were racing through his mind - concern that he’d messed things up for Abigail, anger at the things John had implied, indignation at the way he talked about her. He considered sending her a text to tell her what had happened, but instead decided it was best discussed in person.

And maybe they could talk about the night before, too.

“Any chance I could get off a little early today, mate?” Rylen asked when Hank took a breath. “Something to take care of, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, not a problem,” Hank told him. “You always work later than normal, I don’t see why not. Just make sure things are all set and then you can go whenever.”

“Aye, I appreciate it,” Rylen said. He grinned at Hank before he hurried off to give some instructions, and maybe tell Russ what had happened, since he could tell he was watching him anxiously across the site.

 

* * *

 

There was nothing left to clean.

She’d done the laundry. The bathroom was spotless. The kitchen and dishes were sparkling. She’d even cleaned the damn baseboards.

Not for the first time since moving in she wished for a larger apartment and more possessions, but this time it was because she was out of things to do. She still had time before work, even with her plan to go in early so that she missed Rylen coming home from work.

Time to think, time to figure things out, time to steady herself before she had to talk to him. That was all she needed.

But instead of sorting out her feelings, she seemed intent to fixate on the moment she felt his breath on her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. The words _‘because you’re my lass’_ were echoing through her mind, and every time they did her heart raced.

_My lass._

She hadn’t been able to say anything to him once they were home, worried about what she might say, what she might ask him. Worried she might say fuck it and end well over half a year’s celibacy by picking up where they’d left off in that courtyard and not stopping at a simple kiss, this time.

Nothing but her fingers to satisfy her for months, quick moments stolen during her showers so that he didn’t catch her, with only blurry, nondescript fantasies of muscular arms holding her to think about.

Only now when she closed her eyes she pictured tattooed arms, and a specific, roguishly handsome face above her. She thought about his larger body moving over hers, his hot weight pressing her into a mattress. Those beautiful, strong hands and fingers grasping and caressing her skin until she was writhing under him.

Fuck.

Literally.

Cleaning hadn’t helped, trying to distract herself with writing on her phone wasn’t working either. She huffed out a sigh and clapped a hand over her eyes, shaking her head where it rested on the sofa cushion. Closing her eyes again only conjured the image of his smirk, the feel of his hand on her skin as they danced, and she groaned.

“Fucking Christ,” she grumbled aloud, and finally decided there was nothing more to do for it. She had time, work wasn’t for a bit, and Rylen wouldn’t be home before then.

Opening a new browser on her phone she found the site she wanted, unable to tell if she hated herself or if it was anticipation that made her insides twist. A visual, a distraction, something to take _him_ off her mind. She was just horny, just desperate, months of no one to touch her finally overwhelming her. Scrolling through the pages she chewed her lip and tried to decide, eventually just choosing one with a less obnoxious title and figuring that just anything would work in her current state.

As the cheesy, ridiculous plot began she undid her jeans and slipped her hand into the open waistband until it rested between her legs. She was already wet, her wandering mind conjuring images of Rylen above her exciting her so that the first stroke of her finger made her shudder.

For once, the porn wasn’t as cheesy as what she normally watched, and the slow kisses and careful undressing actually seemed romantic. But as much as she tried to focus on simply watching the actors, to keep her attention on the sight of a tongue circling a clitoris, she couldn’t keep her mind in check. The close up obscured the face until all she could think of was what he would look like, how he might run his tongue along her like that.

Her eyes closed and her finger sped up at the fantasy, at the way blue eyes would look peering up at her from between her thighs. Would he tease her first? Or would he dive in as a man starved suddenly faced with a feast, greedily devouring her with his mouth and fingers?

She opened her eyes wide and groaned, returning her attention to the screen of her phone. The point was to get that particular idea out of her mind - things were too complicated, he didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess more than he already was. Didn’t deserve someone fucked up like her, with all the baggage that came with her.

The man in the video was thrusting now, but the camera only showed his back, the sight of his sculpted ass as he moved between the woman’s legs. Again her mind reminded her of Rylen’s bared ass, when she had caught him changing a few times and early on when she’d had to help save his life. It was as if the image was burned into her mind all these months later. The memory of his playful assurance that she could do it again anytime, that he wanted a kiss before she stuck her finger in him made her moan involuntarily.

How was it that even that memory was somehow exciting, that his teasing and flirtations then were sexy to her now?

Fucking Christ, did she have it that bad?

But she remembered how she had wanted to trail her fingers down his back every time she saw it, how the idea of licking his abs and tracing every one of his tattoos with her tongue had crossed her mind more often than she’d wanted to admit. How she got butterflies every time he called her Abigail, or lass, or how each small touch and tender gesture from him made her heart swell.

“Rylen,” she moaned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she focused more intently with her finger. She was close, and in her haze she let her mind wander, allowing it to think more of how he might touch her, how he might take her, and just how much she wanted him to.

Her phone rested forgotten on her stomach as she tried to imagine how he’d feel inside her. How he’d thrust his hips and what his accent might sound like as he said her name, lost in pleasure they were seeking together.

“Fuck - _Ry_ , yes,” she mewled, whimpering as her back arched, legs trembling. She was close, so close, and her lips parted to say his name again, wishing he was there, really there -

“Lass - I -”

“Fuck!” she cried, her heart leaping into her throat at the deep voice she definitely had not imagined. Pulling her hand from between her legs she scrambled to sit up, her phone falling off her and landing face up on the floor. The sound of loud, porn actress screams seemed to echo through the tiny apartment as if it was a cavern while Abby turned to simply stare at the sight of Rylen standing just inside the doorway.

No words came to her, but her cheeks felt as if they were on fire, mortification seeping in until she wished she could spontaneously combust rather than be there.

As the shock wore off she hopped to her feet, doing up her jeans as quickly as she could, hands shaking as she fumbled with the button.

“Lass, um -”

“You’re - home early,” she said, and she hated how her voice came out like a squeak. Bending to pick up her phone she clumsily tried to turn it off, to lock the screen or something to stop the way the sound of pornography was making the situation a million times more awkward than it already was.

“I - thought we could talk,” Rylen said, and there was an odd strain in his voice. When she glanced up at him she saw him frowning at the phone she had finally managed to silence. “Um, what was -”

“Nothing,” she hurried to insist. Another beat of awkward silence as she tried to look anywhere but him, her disobedient eyes drawn to the confused look on his face despite her best efforts. “T-talk? I - I can’t, I, um - have to go to work, now, I was just about to leave -”

A badly suppressed snort of laughter escaped his throat before he cleared it, and he hid the amused look on his face behind a frown. “Are you sure, lass? I need to tell you -”

“Sorry, I - I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice coming out louder than she meant for it to. Deciding she had to stick with the excuse she’d blurted out, she hurried to her shoes by the door and pulled them on.

“Abigail, wait,” he implored her, and he reached out to grab her arm. “You - you don’t have to be embarrassed -”

“I’m - late,” she stuttered out, avoiding his gaze even as he tried his best to catch her attention by lowering and moving his face to her line of sight. His hand on her arm was _doing things_ to her, and she couldn’t believe that such a simple gesture could fill her with even more desire than she’d felt already.

“It’s only natural -”

“Um, I’ll - I need to - bye,” she told him, tripping over her words as she pulled away from him to grab her purse. As she swung it over her shoulder she yanked the door open, slamming it behind her quickly before she ran down the hall to the stairs.

Once she was out of the apartment building she finally slowed, trying to take deep breaths. Her mind couldn’t quite process what had just happened, all she knew was how much she wished she could suddenly disappear from the face of the planet. The idea of facing him again - the idea of having to see him later, or the next day, after he had just walked in on that…

Oh god, had he heard her calling out to him? How long had he stood there before he said something? She’d been lost in her fantasies, she hadn’t heard the door open. Had he watched before he interrupted?

She couldn’t tell how that idea made her feel - all she knew was that she was in desperate need of a drink.

With that in mind, she hurried down the street towards work. Once inside the bar she ordered a shot and a beer, finishing one in a gulp and beginning to chug the other.

“You okay, Abby?” Michelle asked.

“F-fine,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “One more shot, please. I - um - bad day.”

Michelle nodded and poured before she offered a smile. “It’s been slow today, hopefully you make some money or have an easy night, whichever you need,” she said with a shrug and a laugh. “I just need to finish up my side work -”

“Let me help,” Abby interrupted. “I need a - distraction.”

When she’d finished her drinks she walked behind the bar, clocking in and washing her hands before she began to cut fruit. It was a soothing, mindless task usually, and allowed her to try to steady herself.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and even though she wanted to ignore it in case it was him, she found herself too curious to do so. But when she saw the sender her eyes widened, insides twisting in an even more uncomfortable way than they already had been.

 

_Abby - I know you’ve wanted the bed set in our room, and I’ve got a replacement coming tomorrow. Unfortunately I don’t have the space to hold onto the current one, so I’ll be needing to get rid of it. If you can pick it up tonight that would be appreciated, otherwise I’ll have the delivery men take it away to be donated when they’re here in the morning. I’m here all evening for you to come get it._

 

“What the ever loving _fuck_?!”

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t tell if he should be aroused or disgusted.

It had taken a little searching, but he had finally discovered the term ‘pornography,’ and even a few sites on his phone’s internet that had it available. The videos almost reminded him of the smut drawings he had always found hidden around the Circle in Starkhaven, stashed copies of the Randy Dowager under pillows in the barracks. Or perhaps the service where you could pay to watch people fucking in brothels - only recorded, like a movie, and in the palm of your hand.

He could see the appeal, though some of the movies made him laugh - the titles, the scenarios, the positions, and _Maker_ the over-the-top noises the women made. While the visual _could_ be appealing, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was just meant for moments of desperation, when no other option presented itself.

But that thought led him back to the image of Abigail rolling her hips against her own fingers, hand shoved down her pants as she gasped and moaned _his_ name.

He had known she wanted to kiss him the night before, but this, seeing evidence that she wanted more with him, enough to pleasure herself so desperately on the sofa as she watched a recording of people fucking - he could hardly stand it. He had watched longer than he should have, stunned at the sight before him, and had only spoken up because if he hadn’t he would have just taken over from her. His sudden interruption had been his best effort to keep himself in control, lest he at best watch her lead herself to her release without her knowledge, and at worst pull her pants off to take his place between her legs.

In their months together he had occasionally caught a glimpse of her changing, or her sleeveless shirt twisted around her to reveal her curves as she slept. But he had always diverted his gaze, ever the gentleman, doing his best to resist wanting more unless - or apparently, _until_ \- she was ready and wanted the same.

Now that he knew she did, though, he wasn’t quite certain what to do.

Before he could muse longer on it or come to any sort of decision on a course of action, his phone began to buzz in his hand, notifications obscuring the video of a woman sliding a cock in and out of her mouth.

He hurried to close the video, because the messages were from Abigail - and from what little he could read something had happened.

_I’m freaking the fuck out. John is getting rid of my bed, he just sent me a text telling me if I can’t get it tonight he’s going to donate it in the morning. I’m stuck at work I have no fucking clue what to do. Ugh, sorry, I don’t know why I’m texting you about it. I just feel helpless, needed to vent._

Rylen read the message over twice, taking a moment to absorb it. Fury surged through him for the second time that day, and he scowled and ran a hand through his hair as he thought. He couldn’t even fully enjoy the fact that she was confiding in him, sharing her thoughts and feelings and trials with him. Instead he was simply enraged at what he felt certain was the other man lashing out at her.

After considering for a few moments he finally texted back, _Did he say why, lass? Any chance you can convince him to wait since you don’t work tomorrow? And you know you can always tell me anything. Ry._

He rested his chin in his hand, staring at nothing as he waited for an answer, still wracking his mind for anything he could do.

_He said he got a new one? And that if I can’t get it tonight he’ll have the delivery guys take it to donate in the morning. Fucking bastard, this is probably just because of last night. I tried calling Jessica but she didn’t answer. I mean, he shouldn’t be able to get rid of something that’s mentioned in the settlement but he doesn’t seem to fucking care. Ugggh_

Rylen considered, trying to make sense of part of what she said. If he was going against the terms of an agreement, or a proposal, shouldn’t there be a way to stop him? But perhaps, if he simply acted quickly enough, all they’d be able to do was punish him for it after the fact. In the meantime, though, he would succeed in punishing Abigail.

Before he could reply, his phone went off again.

_Sorry, I just needed to bitch._

Rylen shook his head and began a reply.

_Any chance you can get off work early? Maybe we could find a way. Ry._

A few moments passed as his mind continued to work, and while he waited he opened another message string and typed out, _Are you free tonight, mate?_ _Ry_ and sent it to Russ.

Abigail sent another message, and he opened it quickly. _Not like we could carry the massive bed back on the subway. It’s fine, I’ll just...get a new one at some point, I guess. I’m just so fucking pissed he’s pulling this shit. I never thought he’d be this big of a dick._

As he finished reading it he got a positive response and a _Why?_ from Russ. A smile slowly began to break across his face as a plan started to form.

 _It couldn’t be that far, could it be, lass? Maybe you could figure something out. Ry._ He sent to Abigail before he opened his messages to Russ.

_Need help. Do you have the numbers of some of the other lads? Need something moved, and need extra hands to do it. Ry._

He stood from the bar stool and stretched, heading to where his shoes were tossed by the front door so he could pull them on. His phone went off several times, and he smiled as he read the texts.

_Yeah, I’ve got their numbers. Carl has a giant pickup truck too, it should be able to fit what you need. What are we moving?_

The other text from Abigail described the streets and how close the penthouse was to Central Park, lamenting how far away that was and how that meant they couldn’t easily get it. But it was enough of a description that he felt certain he could find the building.

 _I’m sorry, lass. He shouldn’t be treating you this way. Ry._ He sent back, but he smiled as he opened the messages from Russ and began texting instructions.

He lost himself in arrangements, in messaging Russ, in hurrying out the door and joining him by the work site to meet up with the other lads. Carl’s truck was certainly big enough to move the bed, although Rylen wondered if it was almost too big for the streets of New York. But Alex and Bruno were able to comfortably fit in it as well, since they had eagerly agreed to go and help. He hadn’t really considered it until they were all piled into the truck and talking and joking so easily, but the other lads seemed to respect him - and jumped at the chance to help him out with hardly any hesitation.

When he told them what was going on, and that it was for his lass, they all shook their heads.

“Was it that asshole who came to the site today?” Alex asked.

“The fucking suit?” Carl chimed in as he navigated the narrow street.

“Aye, her husband,” Rylen explained.

“Fuck that guy,” Bruno said. “Trying to get rid of something she asked for. You know my sister left her deadbeat ex and he tried to pull shit like this too - don’t worry, hombre. We got this.”

Rylen smiled, opening the last text he’d received from Abigail.

_I just hate this so much. Thank you for listening to me. It means more than I can explain._

“So what streets again?” Carl asked as they approached Central Park. He began looking for parking along the street, and Rylen reread the message from Abigail.

“Somewhere around here,” he pointed at a sign he could see at an intersection. “I’m not entirely certain which building.”

“Oh oh oh! Parking dude!” Russ cried, pointing to a space that was opening up nearby. “Damn! It’s our lucky day.”

They all laughed, and Carl carefully maneuvered into the spot, taking a few minutes to get it right. When he was done they all hopped out of the truck, looking around and up at the buildings. Rylen read the text once more, looking at street signs, and then back at the entrances to buildings.

A man in a uniform was standing outside one of the buildings, and while he eyed the group of men, he didn’t seem hostile to them. Deciding to throw caution to the winds, Rylen approached him with a winsome smile. “Excuse me, sir,” he greeted, “we’re a little lost. We’re looking for a building in this area. With penthouses?”

“There’s a few, you may have to be a bit more specific,” the man told him, but he laughed good naturedly.

“Well, we’re here to grab something for a lass,” Rylen told him. “She said it was near here, but didn’t send me the building number.”

“Can’t you text Abby?” Russ asked from beside him.

“I didn’t know if she’d tell me, I - didn’t exactly tell her I was coming to get the bed from John,” Rylen answered with a slight sigh. “I could try -”

“Wait, Abby?” the doorman asked suddenly.

“Aye, Abigail - Abby Henderson? Or maybe Baker, I’m not sure,” Rylen replied, a brief flicker of hope showing at the man’s recognition of the name.

“If you’re here for Abby Baker, you came to the right building,” the doorman said. “Grabbing something from the penthouse? I was wondering when she’d come back for more of her things,” he hesitated before he continued, “but, I uh. Normally I wouldn’t - shouldn’t - tell you. But she’s hardly gotten any of her belongings, I’d have noticed if she did. It’s not right. So please - floor fifty-four. But don’t tell Mr. Baker I told you, you hear?”

With a wink the doorman held the door open for them, and Rylen bowed his head and muttered a grateful ‘thanks, mate,’ before he led the way into the building. The polished, marble floors and shiny dark wood of the walls made him feel as if he’d stumbled into the grandiose of an Orlesian temple, and he stopped to get his bearings. A man behind a high desk along the wall stared at the group entering the building, eyebrows raised and mouth curling with distaste.

Russ stepped forward and casually crossed to metal doors on the other side of the large foyer, and the others followed. They waited until a _ding_ sounded and then all stepped onto the lift. “We’ll let you do the talking,” Russ suggested.

“Yeah, but we’ve got your back, man,” Carl assured him.

The others murmured agreement, occasionally chuckling or rolling their necks and shoulders as the lift made its way to the right floor. Once they reached it and the doors parted, they stepped off, Rylen leading the way. With a deep breath, he stopped before the door and knocked.

After several moments of apprehensive silence the door opened, and John’s scowling face met them all. “Can I help you?” he asked, tone snappish as he folded his arms.

“Aye, we’re here for the bed,” Rylen answered casually, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Abigail said you needed to get rid of it, so here we are.”

“I -” John stuttered, but he looked over the group of hulking men waiting in his hallway and huffed out a sigh. “I thought maybe -”

“You thought maybe she’d come? Or that you could get rid of the bed without a fuss?” Rylen finished for him. “Sorry to disappoint, mate. But we can take it off your hands for you, since that’s what you said you wanted.”

The glare that met these words almost made Rylen dissolve into a fit of laughter, but he managed to simply smirk at the other man. John hesitated only a moment more before he stepped back, jerkily gesturing a hand to invite them in.

Rylen led the way once more, crossing the threshold and looking around as he did so. The others followed, but for a moment Rylen simply took in the sight of the luxurious furnishings and decor around him. The ceilings were high, the walls a beautiful cool grey, with furniture that was varying combinations of blacks and whites.

An immaculate kitchen spanned one wall, ornate light fixtures hanging over a long marble counter that looked like an island, and a large open space filled with items of furniture covered the rest of what he could see. An interesting glass fireplace adorned one wall across from a sofa, and tall glass doors led out onto a balcony that seemed to span the size of the apartment on the outside of the building.

A sweeping, curved staircase led up to an open hallway bordered with a glass railing. Several doors lined the upstairs landing, and it was at this that John gestured a lazy hand. Without hesitation Rylen crossed to the staircase, noticing the way John trailed him closely.

“Farthest door on the left,” John muttered.

Rylen took long strides to the door indicated, the others all following his lead, and he pushed the door open. The room was painted a light dove grey, with white and lavender accents throughout, and at the center of the longest wall was a large, four poster bed. The frame itself wasn’t incredibly ornate, but its open rectangular top was draped with sheer dove grey curtains, and the bed looked so thick and plush Rylen wondered if anyone who laid on it would be swallowed whole.

“We can take it apart to fit it in the truck,” Carl mused from behind him.

“I’ll strip it,” Alex suggested.

The other four walked into the room without further ado, and began to work on grabbing pillows, sheets, the fluffy duvet, and everything else they could reach.

“Hey, hombre - did you want us to take the pillows and stuff too?” Bruno called to John, and at John’s ambivalent shrug and nod the other men began to fold and set aside the linens.

“Aye, here,” Rylen said, gathering together a few of the items. “Thanks, mate,” he said to Russ when he was handed a pillow. He glanced at John occasionally, noticing the way a tick seemed to be forming on one of his temples as he watched them all work.

Once they had stripped the bed and moved the mattress and its supporting box off the frame, the other lads stood back for a moment and looked the frame over.

“Oh, no problem,” Carl muttered. “Here,” he pulled a screwdriver from his pocket as Alex did the same, “we’ll just need to keep the screws straight.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Russ said, and he stood and collected the screws as they took the bed frame apart. As the pieces were freed they laid them down, working together as seamlessly as they always did at work.

“We’ll start taking it down,” Bruno suggested.

“Yeah, should all fit,” Carl commented. “And you make fun of my truck.”

“Hey, you’re the one that gets asked to move shit all the time,” Alex pointed out.

“Yeah, and I get paid in free beer for it,” Carl quipped.

Laughter followed their progress out of the room as they continued teasing one another. Russ pocketed the screws and he and Rylen grabbed another piece to take down together.

“I’ll prop the door,” John grumbled. He followed their slow pace down the hall and stairs, holding the front door for them so they could wait for the elevator. With a glare at Rylen, he began to shut the door, and for a moment Rylen wondered if he’d lock them out. But he moved a metal latch to block the door from closing all the way to keep it open, and Rylen smiled.

“Dude, that place was _legit_ ,” Russ muttered as they waited for the lift.

“What?” Rylen asked with a frown.

“Swanky. Super - uh, posh,” Russ explained. “And now Abby’s been living in that tiny ass studio?” He let out a low whistle and shook his head.

Rylen shrugged, trying to decide how seeing her old home had made him feel. Something about it had almost felt cold - impersonal. And while it was far more impressive than where they lived now, he couldn’t help but feel like where they were was homier, and had traces of her in every nook and cranny, no matter how small.

He contemplated the vast difference between the two the entire way down the lift, the whole time they all worked to load the pieces of the bed they had brought down into the truck. The doorman smiled as he held the door open for them once more, and the staff at the desk didn’t give them more than a passing glance as they made their way across the foyer. They laughed easily as they rode the lift together, and they departed it to re-enter the penthouse, Rylen leading the way once more.

John stood beside one of the end tables next to the sofas, setting a glass decanter down on a silver tray but not replacing the stopper. When he caught sight of Rylen he downed the amber liquid in his glass in one gulp, and then poured himself another.

The other lads continued back up the stairs to gather the rest, but Rylen slowed, watching the other man as a new thought crossed his mind. Just because they were only there for the bed, didn’t mean he couldn’t see what else he could bring back for her. And he felt fairly certain he knew exactly what he should ask for.

Sauntering over to the other man, he took in the way he scowled at his approach over the rim of his glass. Was it just him, or were there deep bags under John's eyes?

Deciding he couldn’t care less, he casually looked around the living room. “Abigail also asked me to grab her writing tools,” Rylen told John, smirking at the way the name seemed to get under the other man's skin again. “Where might those be?”

John glowered at him and then gestured behind him at a black desk in one corner of the large living area, near the fireplace. “Her laptop is right there, with all its cords and everything,” he muttered. “A few journals, too, maybe - I don’t know. Take what you want, why should I care.”

Rylen raised his eyebrows, surprised by the indifference with which John brushed off the request. “Thanks, mate,” he said, smirking at the man’s continued glare.

He was enjoying this too much.

Focusing on the desk, he delicately picked up every piece that he felt had to be important - the ‘laptop’ indicated, the cords attached to it, the few embossed leather journals that sat piled in one corner. He searched for anything else that might be important, and once he’d gathered everything he set it all together by the door. With another glance at where John was refilling his glass he hurried up the stairs to join the others to help finish taking apart the bed.

“We got it, don’t worry,” Russ grunted, struggling slightly under the weight of the mattress’ support box. The other end was held by Alex, and behind them Carl and Bruno were carrying the mattress between them.

“That’s the last of it,” Bruno told him. “Or at least, I think. Maybe some sheets or pillows left.”

Rylen nodded and walked into the room, but he saw only two decorative pillows left behind. He glanced around the room, wracking his brain for anything else he could bring back for Abigail. A white vanity with a large mirror sat in one corner, and he walked over to it, eyes fixated on a framed picture resting in one corner. A woman and a man who looked a great deal like Abigail were smiling up at him from the picture, and if he wasn’t mistaken the clothes they were wearing might have been wedding clothes.

Without a second thought, Rylen picked the frame up and delicately folded its stand so that he could bring it with him.

When he reached the first floor again he saw John standing with his hands in his pockets, glowering at the door as it swung shut. Unable to resist Rylen slowed and came to a stop beside him, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. John seemed to startle and turned his glare on Rylen. This close up he could see the bloodshot of his eyes, the circles beneath them marring his otherwise healthy, tanned skin.

“Well, we’ve got that out of your hair for you, mate,” Rylen said cheerily. Despite the look on the other man’s face, the way he looked so weary and defeated, Rylen couldn’t help but prod at him a bit more. After his words earlier that day, it was the least he deserved. “Next time more of a heads up would be appreciated, but -”

“Get out of my house,” John interrupted, and he jerked his shoulder away from Rylen’s hand.

“Did I ruin your schemes on the lass again?” Rylen challenged, and he smirked at the scathing look John gave him. “What a damned shame.”

“Do you think swaggering around, calling her ‘Abigail’ will win her over? Do you really think you can give her what she needs?” John gritted out.

Rylen quirked an eyebrow as he considered the other man. “I’m not doing this to ‘win her over,’” he told him. “It’s called being a decent person. All this,” Rylen gestured at the furnishings around them with a hand, “can’t make up for being a pompous, lying arse, apparently. And I think we probably disagree about what Abigail _needs._ ”

John continued to glare at Rylen, the muscles in his jaw working as if he was grinding his teeth or resisting speaking again. “Get out,” he repeated finally.

“Have a good night, mate,” Rylen said, and he winked at the other man’s scowl.

Gathering Abigail’s journals, the laptop, and carefully balancing the framed photo of her parents on top, Rylen walked out of the apartment to catch the lift. The satisfying sound of the door slamming behind him echoed through the hallway, and he smiled to himself as he looked down at the personal effects he was cradling in his hands.


	17. You, Just Like Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music: ["Monster" by Mumford and Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmfit7BcGzE)

Only five customers in over four hours, and now her boss was finally letting her close. She didn’t even know what she was going to do, or what she _could_ do, despite whining to Rylen that she would likely just let it go. But her mind had been churning, desperation and anxiety gripping her the entire time she’d worked.

She had had to put her phone in her purse to avoid sending the nasty text she wanted to John. Jessica hadn’t answered her call, and Rylen had stopped responding after she thanked him for listening to her. But she refused to make things worse by letting John know she was angry, and so she’d removed the temptation and set her phone out of sight.

 _“I can resist everything except temptation”_ it said in black ink on her forearm.

And the last two days were truly putting her willpower to the test.

So far her plan amounted to catching the subway to the penthouse to try her best to negotiate with John about the bed. That was all she could come up with, all she could think to do. As she closed up the bar and locked the door behind her, she tried to rehearse what arguments she could make to convince him.

Hurrying down the street, she realized she’d left her subway pass in the apartment. She turned back the other way, half-jogging to their building. In and out: she would grab the pass, tell Rylen she’d be back later, and then be on her way.

The only good thing was that in her panic about the bed, she didn’t have time to think about how mortified she was that he had walked in on her. Which is why she didn’t hesitate at all before she unlocked and opened the apartment door.

“Hey, I’m -” she began to say, but she stopped dead in her tracks.

The sofa was pushed back against the wall, the air mattress deflated and rolled up beside it in an attempt to make room for the king-size, four poster bed taking up the rest of the space. Her jaw dropped, the word _How?_ dying on her lips as she watched Rylen fitting the last corner of the sheets on the mattress.

He glanced up when he finished, smiling at the sight of her standing there. When she continued to stare in silence, a slight frown quirked his brow and he gestured to the bed. “I - I washed the sheets, figured that was best,” he told her. He put his hands on his hips and looked between she and the bed for a moment before he smiled again. “Hope you don’t mind where I put it, seemed to be the best spot, considering.”

She walked forward slowly to set her purse on the bar cart - but several items piled there caught her attention. “Is that - my - h-how?” she murmured. Stopping beside the bar cart she lifted the frame from the top of the pile, staring down at the wedding photo she had always kept on her vanity after her mother passed.

“Some of the lads helped me carry things, Carl has a truck,” Rylen explained. “Are you - all right? I - I was just - I can sleep on the sofa now -”

“Ry, I’ve - I just have no words, I thought,” she felt her voice crack on the thought and swallowed hard. She set the picture down again and walked to stand beside him, eyes wandering over the bed before she looked up at him. “I thought it’d be gone, I - I didn’t expect you to - save the day.”

He smirked and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t trying to - be the hero,” he murmured. “I did it because it wasn’t right, what he was trying. I just did it because it - needed to be done. Not an attempt to woo you, or -”

“I know,” she interrupted, staring up at him. She knew it was the truth, that he hadn’t done it to prove anything to her. Again, just because of who he was, continuing to show her what sort of a man he was - and how much he cared about her. It was perfect, because it was so unassuming and natural to him. “I know, Ry, and that’s - that’s what makes it so perfect,” she told him, and she stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm as she continued to hold his gaze.

He had that intense look in his eyes again as they wandered over her face, as if he was trying to figure out what she was thinking or come to a decision about something. “Abigail,” he breathed, and for a moment his hands hovered by her arms before they settled on her waist.

In the same moment they turned into one another, Rylen moving a hand to slide into her hair as she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck to pull him down to her. His lips were soft, hesitant on hers for only a moment before he pulled her against him more roughly. She parted her lips as she leaned into him, her other hand holding his cheek as he crushed her to him.

Their tongues met and slid against one another, greedily tasting and exploring as they did. Abby swayed a bit, hands sliding down his shoulders and arms to his chest. But his shirt was in the way - she wanted, _needed_ to feel skin under her fingers. When she slipped her hands under the hem and began to slide it up he finally pulled back from the kiss. Only a moment without his mouth on hers, but after tugging the shirt over his head he returned his hands to her face to pull her back in for a kiss.

His skin was hot, and she raked her nails along it as she satisfied the desire to feel it, to caress him. When he began to pull gently at the bottom of her shirt she leaned back to let him remove it. For a moment his eyes wandered over her before he buried his face in her neck, one large hand cradling her head. Soft gasps left her as he trailed his mouth up and down the column of her throat, and she reached behind her to undo the hooks of her bra. Once freed she pressed herself to him, just wanting to feel bare flesh against hers, to feel his heat on her.

Her fingers working at the button of his pants made him finally pull away, but he merely stooped and lifted her in his arms. She twisted her fingers into his hair, tightening her legs on either side of him. They resumed their deep kiss and he spun on the spot. Resting a knee on the end of the bed, he gently pulled them onto it, laying her on her back.

He sat back, kneeling between her legs, and for a moment he paused as his eyes wandered over her. Then his fingers were working on the button and zipper of her jeans, and he tugged them down, pulling her shoes off as he did and throwing everything behind him over the edge of the bed. She helped undo his jeans in turn, and he quickly shucked them off until he was bared. For a long moment they stared at one another, Abby’s eyes wandering over him to take in the sight of familiar tattoos on his arms and chest. Only now, somehow, it was like she was seeing them for the first time. His cock was hard, and seeing him like this, pleasantly large and already so eager for her made her shiver with anticipation.

He leaned back over her, propping himself above her with his hands by her shoulders. His kiss was slow and deep, demanding and suffocating until she felt breathless. And desperate.

“Ry,” she breathed against his lips when he pulled back for a moment.

He smiled at her, running his thumb over her lips before he pressed another kiss to them. Abby hooked her fingers in the lacy underwear he had left on her, slipping them down her hips. Rylen shifted and reached to help push them off of her, and once she had kicked them off she spread her legs again. Gripping his hips she encouraged him, pulling him down until he rested on top of her. His weight, his heat against her skin felt glorious, and she moaned into his mouth at the fulfillment of her earlier desires.

The sensations were better than her imaginings, finally able to feel him against her, to enjoy his hands grasping her breasts or her thighs as they moved over her as if he couldn't get enough of her either. When he slipped his hand between her legs she cried out, fingers digging into his back as his seemingly practiced touch excited her to new heights. It wasn’t just the fact that it had been months - the knowledge that it was his fingers touching her made her tremble.

She was clinging to him desperately, and they moved almost as one, shifting and rolling their hips toward one another. He was against her, and then he slowly slid into her, thrusting until he filled her completely. For a moment it was as if time stopped, the world slowed, and he raised his head so that he could peer down at her.

Brushing her hair off her cheek he simply held her gaze, both of them seeming to want to take a breath to savor that first moment. He nuzzled his nose against hers when he leaned down again, and then kissed her gently, gradually building in intensity as he began moving. Each thrust felt like heaven, until her head felt like it was spinning as she rolled her hips back against his.

He pulled one leg around him, holding her thigh as he continued his searing kiss and the steady pace of his thrusts. This, him moving within her, kissing and holding her like this - it was perfection. Her fingers created paths in his wavy hair, simply trying to hold him to her, to feel every inch of him as she did. It was all so different and more wonderful than she had hoped or expected, fulfilling her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

When her gasps and moans pulled her away from the kiss with increasing frequency, Rylen licked his thumb and reached down to where he was moving between her legs. As soon as he placed it against her clit she called out his name, eyes clenching shut at the feelings racing through her entire body. The sound of his ragged breaths, the way they were both slick with sweat from how tightly they were holding one another came into sharper focus, making it all feel more intense, more real to her.

Rylen - loving, caring, and far more tender than she had expected, far more than she realized had been missing from her life. She opened her eyes to seek out aqua above her, hands cupping his cheeks as she held his gaze - and came undone, sobbing his name. His brows furrowed and his rhythm stuttered, and he captured her lips with his again as he thrust deep.

Again the world seemed to still as soon as they did, Rylen going slightly limp on her as he released her from the kiss. He propped himself on his elbows above her, and for several moments they simply held one another’s gaze in silence.

“Abigail -”

“Ry, I -”

They fell silent again, but then he smirked - and then he frowned. “I - I meant to say something, I meant to - I didn’t mean to take you so quickly, just - I’ve wanted you for so long, and then you kissed me,” he rambled.

“Ry, it’s okay - I wanted to -”

“No, I know, I just - I meant to tell you, _before_ we - before I kissed you, but -”

“Tell me what?” she interrupted, frowning. “You don’t have some Thedosian STD - oh fuck,” she clapped a hand over her eyes, “we should have used a condom. I mean I’m on the pill but fuck -”

“Abigail, I’m trying to tell you - for you, I’d do anything. I would. I - Abigail, I love you. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, lass,” he insisted. He put a hand on the side of her face, trailing a thumb over her cheekbone. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long -”

“Ry, wait -” she interjected, trying to let the words sink in, trying to fully absorb what he was telling her, the feelings it was inspiring in her. The things she wanted to say in return.

“Abigail, I love you,” he repeated. “I’ll use hundreds of those - what did you say? Con-condoms? I will, every time, just -”

“Ry, wait, wait -”

“Lass, I want you with me, beside me always -”

“Ry!” she said more loudly, tapping him slightly where her hand rested on his chest. “Ry, I’m trying to say something, you’re - you’re rambling -”

“I just meant to tell you first -”

“I’m trying to tell you - Ry, I’m trying to tell you - I’m trying to say I love you, too,” she talked over his continued blathering, and he finally halted his rushed confessions. He peered down at her, falling silent as he took in the look in her eyes and seemed to register her words. “Ry, I - I love you. I was trying to say it back, but you wouldn’t shut up -”

The rest of her words were lost in another kiss, but she didn’t mind. They held one another’s faces, fingers stroking skin, tangling in hair, lips twisting as their tongues danced together. Her heart felt like it was pounding her ribs in celebration, its rhythm wild as her mind replayed the way he had said, _Abigail, I love you._

He pulled away but his hand still cradled her cheek, and he smiled down at her. “My lass,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to be able to call you that for so long. Since we met, I’ve felt - I’ve never felt this before. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured. It felt surprising just how _unsurprised_ she was by those words, by the feelings racing through her. She was stunned by how much she knew she meant them - but if she really thought about it, it wasn’t surprising at all. Not in the least.

Rylen finally pulled himself from her and rolled onto his back, taking her with him and tucking her against his side. His fingers absently trailed on her shoulder, tracing the lines of her tattoo as he stared at the sheer canopy of curtains above them. “I - feel a bit at a loss, though,” he confessed. “I mean - now what? I - I didn’t expect this, I was just - doing the right thing.”

“Like you always do,” she agreed softly. But as she rubbed her cheek against his chest she considered what he had said, and a sudden frown knitted her brows together.

_Now what?_

_Fuck - still married, technically._

_And yes, I love him, but - this is all new._

_A new relationship, and we’re already living together._

Her heart started to race, insides twisting uncomfortably at the realizations.

“I just - I know it’s all still complicated,” he mused slowly.

_Complicated._

_That’s a fucking understatement._

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked, and she hated the hesitation she heard in his voice. He propped himself on his elbows, staring at where she had sat up suddenly, clutching the sheets to her chest and looking around.

She felt lost, even more than he had sounded when he said it. Too many thoughts and emotions were crashing through her mind until she almost felt like everything was too loud, overwhelming. There was no taking it slow now, was there? They’d jumped in, feet first, no attempt at looking ahead, no thought to what they were doing. She had wanted him, she loved him - more than she thought, more than she realized, and in a different way than she had ever felt it before.

The thought was crazy, terrifying and thoroughly disorienting. Whatever this was, she didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t know what she could say, what she could do - and why did she just want to confide all of this to him? To have him wrap her in his arms and tell her -

“Lass, are you - did I say something wrong?” he interrupted her thoughts. He finally pushed himself into a sitting position, reaching hesitantly to her back with a hand. “Please, Abigail - tell me, whatever it is.”

“I - I’m just,” she took a moment and sighed, shaking her head, “I have no fucking clue. I just - I’m scared. I mean Jesus, Ry, we - we just hopped right in -”

“Do you - do you regret it?” he asked, and she hated the way his voice tugged slightly, as if he was trying to keep it steady despite what he must be feeling.

“No!” she hurried to assure him immediately. “I just - fuck, I mean - we’re already living together. I - I don’t - and I’m still,” she trailed off for a moment, staring at a fold in the soft sheets on the bed. “I just - I - I don’t know. I wanted this, I mean - well -”

“Aye, I knew that, considering what I saw earlier,” he teased, and he grinned when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Talk to me, Abigail. I want - I want you to be happy -”

“That’s the thing, Ry,” she said with a shrug. “I’m happy. I’m really fucking happy, but - all of this. It’s just - a lot.”

To her surprise, he didn’t get defensive, he wasn’t upset. Instead he leaned closer and cradled her head, holding her to his chest and rocking her slightly. “Aye, it is,” he agreed softly. “I’m glad it happened, but I understand that it’s likely too much to take in. I’m here, Abigail - however you want me, however you need me -”

“You’re so fucking sweet,” she murmured. “All the damn time. Just - Jesus, Ry. You’re perfect.”

“I don’t know about that, lass,” he said with a chuckle that reverberated against her, and brought a soft smile to her face. “But I’m trying. For you.”

“You’re not making this any easier,” she accused him, but she giggled.

“Not making what easier? Loving me?” he mused.

“That too,” she told him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. After he said it he laid back once more, pulling her onto him and keeping her pressed to his broad chest.

“You’ve already done so much,” she pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper. She was too content with the way he was stroking her hair, the calming feeling of his steady breaths and heartbeat beneath the ear she had rested on him. “I can’t ask more of you, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“How about you let me decide that, Abigail?” he pointed out softly. “Tell me what I can do, and I’ll try my best.”

Abby’s eyes closed at the words, torn between laughter and tears. “Was your best not somehow rescuing my bed and writing stuff from my shitty husband?” she said finally.

A moment of tense silence passed at the mention of her husband, but then Rylen chuckled and rubbed circles on her back with his hand. “Five men showing up on his doorstep did look like the last thing your man expected,” he told her, laughing. “All I had to do was find the right building, and luckily a man at the door helped.”

“A man at the - oh, it must have been Steve,” she realized. “I always liked Steve. I should send him a card or something. But - how did John take it? I mean, he was probably just trying to get me over there -”

“He was angry, but he also looked,” Rylen paused as he thought. “I’m not sure. I was trying to tell you earlier, when I came home -”

“You mean when you caught me…” she trailed off, glancing up at him. She was still more than a little embarrassed, even after what had just happened between them.

A sly smile came across his face, a twinkle in his bright eyes. “Aye, then,” he told her. “I came home early to tell you he’d come by the site. Asked me if I was sleeping with you. Bit ironic, now…”

For a moment Abby simply stared straight ahead, taking in the words - and then she laughed. If John was showing up at Rylen’s work, asking if they were together -

“He’s worried,” she said. “Starting to realize he can’t get me back, that things really are done.”

“I hope - I hope I haven’t made things worse for you, Abigail,” he murmured.

“Ry,” she rested her chin on his chest so that she could look at him, “you’ve made everything better. For months, I - I’ve been happier, having you in my life.”

“I don’t want to let you go, lass,” he breathed, reaching with a hand to brush his knuckles on her cheek.

“Let me go?” she asked, frowning.

“Aye, I mean - until things are fixed, until you’re free -”

“No, Ry, that’s not,” she pushed herself up so that she was straddling him, leaning over and resting her hands by his head, “that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to figure out - I mean, this feels so serious, so quickly but - it also makes sense. That’s why it’s so confusing to me, it feels - right. Natural. Like I’m exactly where I should be, with - who I should be with.”

At her words he smiled, his hands coming to rest on her back as he tried to encourage her down to him. “I feel that too, Abigail,” he told her. “And if you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

It was wonderful, being able to respond to his sweet words with kisses, now, no longer having to hold back. The kiss was slow, full of everything they had just said, full of ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m yours.’

She almost couldn’t believe how right it felt, now that the shock was wearing off. That she felt safe, trusting, that she stopped worrying about whether or not this could end badly and hurt her too surprised her. Then again, it didn’t. She had realized it the night before, the way he had been so steady for six months, a comforting constant in the midst of chaos.

He couldn’t hurt her - all he could do was love her.

“Ry,” she murmured, staring down into his eyes, thumb running along the tattoos on his chin. “I love you. Stay with me - be with me -”

“Always, Abigail,” he told her. “You’ll never be alone again. I love you.”

She ached with the words, with his assurances, and she kissed him. The need to feel him once more, to be one with him felt overpowering, and she reached a hand down to search him out. A deep moan met her fingers as they wrapped around his cock. As she slowly pumped him he twisted a hand in her hair, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Waiting any longer felt like too much torture, and she angled her hips and sat back, covering him in one stroke. He gripped her hips and held on as she began thrusting on him, but after a few moments he sat up. Cradling her in his lap, he wrapped an arm around her back. His eyes wandered over her body, greedily watching her as if he couldn’t get enough.

Abby rolled and rocked against him, trying to keep him deep inside her, not wanting to separate at all as she clung to his shoulders and the back of his neck. Each thrust made her moan, and Rylen’s rough palm on her breast caused her eyelids to flutter shut, neck arching as she tightened where she held onto him.

“Lass,” he purred, and the sound of his voice made her throb. When she met his gaze again all she saw was love, and they leaned forward as one to capture each other’s lips in a kiss.

“Ry - god, you’re - you feel so good,” she gasped. Twisting a hand into his hair she held him steady so she could kiss him more deeply. His fingers dug into her flesh where he held her, caresses slightly rougher as they both became more urgent in their need. “I’m - god, I’m close, Ry, I’m close.”

He immediately slipped a hand between them, stroking her with a thumb as his other hand grasped the side of her face. “Abigail, I want to feel you. Say my name, lass, I want to hear it again -”

“R-Rylen!” she cried out, neck arching while she desperately tightened her hold on him as she fell apart. A loud groan and half-shouted call of her name followed, Rylen’s hand pulling her face to him so that she was resting her forehead on his.

For what felt like an eternity they simply held one another, hands trailing up and down arms and backs as they tried to catch their breath. Abby felt like everything had faded away, unaware of anything else in the world except the feeling of his skin against hers, the feeling of him still inside her.

“Maker, I love you,” he finally breathed.

“I know you do,” she told him, absently running her fingers through his hair as she cradled his head against her neck.

The perfect bliss she felt erased doubts, and fears, leaving her with only safety and love, and the knowledge that with him she could overcome anything.


	18. Bathed in the Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music: ["Crack the Shutters" by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhK81hZj4L4)
> 
> Have some floofy smut. xx

The sun felt warmer on his face, seeming brighter than normal, and he blinked his eyes open slowly. Sunlight filtered in through sheer curtains, and beneath him were soft sheets and the plush bed and pillows he had spent the evening carefully arranging. The sun was no longer blocked by the sofa as it had been where he used to sleep, and he took a moment to enjoy waking up with the first light of the day on his face.

Abigail was curled into his embrace, her smaller figure tucked against the front of him, one of his arms over her side to hold her to him. Their fingers were interlaced, his bent knees cradling hers, every inch of them that could be touching pressed close against one another.

She loved him. She had told him, again and again, had held him to her and taken him into her, and now she was sleeping peacefully in his arms. Making love had been more wonderful than he had imagined, but waking wrapped up in her was even better.

He smiled to himself and then pressed a kiss to her hair before he shifted back slightly. The tattoos lining her spine did more than tempt him a little, and he pressed his lips to the first crescent, and then the next. Slowly he made his way down, kissing each as his hand slid along her side and lightly caressed her skin.

With a soft moan she began to stir, her legs stretching and then curling once more, and she turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Ry?” she murmured with a sleepy smile.

“Morning, lass,” he purred, and he kissed the last crescent, the one that rested above the round curves of her rear. He trailed his mouth to her hip, still pressing kisses and using his teeth occasionally to playfully nip her flesh.

“Don’t - don’t you have to get ready for work?” she asked softly. Another moan slipped from her throat as he pushed one of her thighs up with a hand, exposing her to him.

“I’ve got time,” he murmured. When he slid his tongue along her slit she cried out, a hand reaching down for him as her other clapped over her mouth. After a few strokes he parted her thighs and rolled her to her back, holding her legs in his hands so that she was spread for him.

Months of satisfying himself with daydreams and his hand, waking from dreams of her only to see her sleeping so close on the sofa - but now he had woken with her in his arms. If it did run him late to work, he found he didn’t care in the slightest. It would be worth it to finally indulge the longings he’d had for so long, which even their intense lovemaking the night before hadn’t fully sated.

In fact, he wasn’t certain he’d ever feel satisfied, not in his desires for her or how he wanted to explore and worship her.

The soft cries and gasps that met each lick of his tongue only made him want to give her more, to pull more love cries from her throat. He swirled and slid his tongue along her pearl, glancing up to see the way she looked down occasionally to watch him before throwing her head back on the pillows. He kept working until her breaths became more ragged, her hips rolling against him, and her fingers twisted into his hair.

“Ry - I - I want -” she gasped out.

He sucked at her gently before he pressed a soft kiss to her, raising his head to smile up at the sight of her breathing heavily, writhing slightly on the pillows. “What do you want, love?” he purred. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

She put a hand over her eyes and moaned almost desperately. “I want - I want your fingers, too, please - I’m so close, I want - I want your fingers in me too.”

At her words he smirked and slid a hand to her, lightly rubbing a finger against her opening, swirling her wetness around it teasingly until she gasped. “This, lass? Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please, Ry -”

A soft cry escaped her as he slid two fingers into her and curled them, stroking her as he resumed the careful attentions of his mouth. He could feel her fluttering around his fingers, her thighs trembling on either side of his ears. When she fell apart her back arched, legs tightening slightly on either side of his head, calls of his name accompanying the desperate way she was clenching around his fingers.

As she stilled he raised his head, pressing kisses to the inside of her thigh as he continued stroking her lightly with his fingers. After a few moments she seemed to regain her senses, and she looked down at him, propping herself on her elbows.

“Ry, come here - kiss me,” she asked, and she watched eagerly as he stretched himself over her and took his place between her legs. She laid back on the pillows and reached up to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a kiss.

Several long moments passed as they tasted one another, and then she moved a hand down to take him in her fingers. She stroked him a few times before she guided him to her, encouraging him to thrust in with her legs wrapped around his hips.

The first moment inside her made him pause, savoring it just as he had the other times he had taken her so far. He slanted his mouth against hers and kissed her more deeply as he began thrusting, keeping himself pressed flush to her. Rolling his hips he marveled at the little cries that met each movement, and he raised his head to watch her as she clung to him. Occasionally he pressed kisses to her, nipping her neck, burying his face against her to drink in her scent as he tried to push her to the edge.

When he felt her throbbing around him she reached a hand to his rear to keep him close and deep within her, and he moved his mouth to her ear. Catching her earlobe in his teeth he nibbled it for a moment before he kissed her throat just below it. At her moan he smiled where he could feel her pulse racing against his lips.

“Aye, there’s a lass - I want to feel you come for me, Abigail,” he purred encouragingly. “It’s the sweetest heaven, feeling you come undone on my cock.”

“Ry - I’m -”

He tilted his hips slightly so that he could rub against her pearl more with each thrust. “I know, lass - come for me, love, I want you to.” Propping himself on an elbow he cradled her head and watched as her brow furrowed, as her lips parted and her neck arched.

“Ry - Ry, I’m -” she began, but the words cut off in a loud cry as she fell apart.

He slowed for just a moment to enjoy the feeling of her clenching around him, and then he jerked his hips harder to seek his release as well. When he found it he moaned her name and buried his face against her neck, shuddering with his last thrust. After a moment he thought he might be able to function once more and began to raise himself from her, but she clutched at his back with a hand. With a smirk against her neck he slowly lowered himself once more until he was resting on top of her.

“I’m not ready for you to go,” she told him.

He chuckled and slid his hand to rest on the pillow beside her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “I can stay a bit longer,” he murmured. Pressing soft kisses to her cheek and neck, he nuzzled into her skin, marveling at the feel of her in his arms. The scent of her and lovemaking permeated his senses, making him wish he could stay there all day with her.

“I wish you didn’t have to go to work,” she sighed. “It’s going to be lonely around the apartment today, after - after this.”

He propped himself on his elbow so that he could look down at her, and he carefully picked a few strands of hair off of her face. “I’ll be home this evening,” he said. “But you have your writing to work on, again. Before you know it I’ll be home.”

She smiled and reached up to cup his cheek with her hand. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Thank you, again.”

“Of course, lass,” he told her and he leaned down to kiss her. “I love you, Abigail.”

“I love you, Ry,” she said. She sighed and finally unwrapped her arms and legs from around him. “All right, I guess - you can go to work.”

He kissed her one last time and finally untangled himself from her and the sheets. Every time he looked back at her as he moved around the apartment he smiled at the sight of her watching him eagerly from the bed. Things were more cramped now with the addition of the bed, but he found he didn’t mind at all as he made his way to the bathroom. He showered quickly, smiling the entire time as he thought about how his morning had gone so far.

When he exited the bathroom after dressing he saw Abigail still laying in bed, scrolling through something on her phone. At the sight of him she set her phone down on the pillow and stretched, but something had changed in her demeanor.

“Everything all right, lass?” he asked, frowning as he pulled his boots on.

“Just - messages from John,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

His frown deepened and he stood to cross to the end of the bed, kneeling down to stretch over for a kiss. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Did he - say anything?” he asked.

She shrugged and shook her head. “It’s fine, it’s not important -”

“Abigail, tell me if he said anything, if I made things worse -”

“I just - I don’t want to tell you because we’re having such a good morning, and he,” she heaved a sigh before she continued. “Honestly, he sounded drunk, the texts are all over the place. But he also said he missed me again, and he was - reminiscing about us. It’s just - it’s not important, we don’t need to talk about him. What is important,” she strained up and pressed a kiss to his lips, “is that you have a good day. And I’ll see you later, okay?”

“If he bothers you please tell me,” he requested softly. “No matter what - promise me, Abigail.”

She considered him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. “I promise, Ry, but it’s probably not necessary,” she finally agreed. “Now go to work, before you’re late.”

“It was worth it,” he told her with a smirk. He kissed her deeply one last time before he pushed himself up from where he knelt on the bed. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, and she smiled as she laid back on the pillows. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” he said with a wink as he opened the front door. He locked up after himself, whistling and humming softly as he made his way out of the building.

When he reached the work site, he waved to Hank and made his way to where he was needed, and no one made mention that he was cutting it close. He simply set to work, thinking about his night, wondering if Abigail was still in the bed that likely smelled of him and lovemaking. Maybe when he got home later, she’d show him her writing now that she had it with her once more.

“Hey man! How’d - how’d it go?” Rylen glanced up to see Russ stopped beside him, smiling eagerly as he waited for an answer. “Was she totally happy?”

A smirk tugged up the corner of his mouth before he could stop it, and he cleared his throat and looked back to what he was working on. “Aye, she was - relieved. Actually, she wanted to make certain I thanked you all, said she’ll buy you all drinks sometime.”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” Russ agreed, but he was watching Rylen carefully, a slight frown on his face. “There’s something else -”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about -”

“Oh my god - you guys totally boned, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“You did! You’re smiling!” Russ pumped a fist in the air. “About damn time -”

“Lad, keep your voice down,” Rylen chided him, waving a hand to try to encourage him to be quieter. “If - _if_ something happened, it shouldn’t be - bandied about, all right?”

“Oh, right - husband,” Russ muttered. He stepped closer, almost conspiratorially. “So? How’d it go? How was it?”

“I - I’m not telling you details, mate,” Rylen scoffed. “It isn’t right, I won’t go talking about her like that -”

“Well but just - I mean - you’ve been trying for so long,” Russ told him. “Even Gabriela and I moved faster than you two -”

“Neither of you was married -”

“Still, though,” Russ said, staring at him pointedly. “Are you guys like - together now?”

Rylen smiled and then tried to keep his face straight once more. “Again, mate, I - I shouldn’t say anything.”

“Not like I’m gonna go tell her husband,” Russ muttered and he rolled his eyes. “That guy is a total tool, I mean - sweet pad, but what a douchebag. I’m glad we were able to get the bed for her, especially considering -”

“All right, all right,” Rylen interrupted, but he chuckled. Honestly, he was incredibly glad for that reason as well, but he was going to keep that to himself. “Get back to work, lad - we can’t stand here lollygagging all day.”

“Uh huh,” Russ mused, and he winked at Rylen before he continued on with his work.

Throughout the day, a few calls of “hey, Scottie!” heralded one of the other lads coming over to say hello. Alex, Carl, and Bruno all stopped and asked him if Abigail had been happy, if they had really managed to save the day. They asked too if there had been any issues with John, but at his uncertain answer they all shook their heads and folded their arms.

“You tell us if you need us again,” Alex told him, and the other two nodded.

“Yeah, that guy’s a dick,” Bruno added. “Any time, hombre.”

“Thanks, lads,” Rylen told them. “I’ll tell Abigail, too. The lass wants to buy you all drinks sometime.”

They nodded and laughed, and Carl lightly punched Alex on the arm. “Told you - free beer.”

Rylen tried his best to focus on his work, but his mind wandered endlessly over the last day. When John had shown up at the site the day before, he hadn’t imagined that it would lead to where it had, to holding Abigail in his arms as she cried his name in the throes of passion. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true.

At lunch he checked his phone, his heart racing slightly to see that he had a message from her. When he opened it he saw that she’d sent him a picture, and he smiled at the sight of it. Her journals and the laptop were spread out over the bed, and he could see her bared legs curled up under a mug of coffee she was holding in her other hand.

 

_Working on my writing! I’m having to reread it from the beginning, but thank god for coffee to help me power through. I’d forgotten how much I had done! Xoxo_

 

He grinned wider at the message, at the thought of her working on something she loved and that mattered to her. Deciding to return the sentiment, he held up the hot dog he was halfway through eating, framing the steel beams of the work site in the background behind it.

 

_Work is going well here, too, making a lot of progress. Glad to see you working on your writing, lass. Can’t wait to see you. Ry_

 

In response he got one of the yellow faces with hearts instead of eyes and one that was winking and making a face as if puckering up for a kiss. He searched through his own, trying to remember from the few times he had used them. After he replied he pocketed his phone and finished his meal, eager to return to work so that he could pass the day more quickly to get back to her.

It was a perfect opportunity, their second day together as one of her nights off. They’d be able to spend the evening together, maybe have dinner with wine, watch the sunset from the fire escape - stay in bed and make love until they were exhausted.

Counting down the hours until he could leave for the day and return to her preoccupied his thoughts. More than once he had to redirect his mind from recalling the way she had felt around him, how soft her skin was, the sweet sounds she had made as he caused her to lose herself. Thankfully the site was busy that day, so much to do that once he was able to actually focus on work the day passed quickly.

After months of being secretly so eager to see her when he got home, wondering how she would respond to him and what it may lead to - leaving now felt thrilling, since he had a better idea how the evening would go. It was finally leading where he had longed for it to, finally able to freely tell her and show her just how glad he was to be with her after a long day.

The short walk made his heart race as he thought about coming home to her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her, and he ran up the stairs two at a time. This was different, now, realizing he was returning to the woman he loved - who loved him back.

His key in the door made him smile, and he swung the door wide. Abigail perked up from where she was sitting at the bar cart, pushing herself off the stool she was sitting on. Her eyes never left him, and a smile slowly broke across her face.

“Hey,” she greeted. “How was - how was work?”

His eyes wandered over the shirt she was wearing - his shirt, over a pair of soft shorts she slept or lounged around the apartment in. The sight of her in one of his shirts cemented the feeling of absolute rightness, and he stared for a moment to drink it in. “It was good, lass,” he answered slowly as he closed the door behind him. He watched as she circled to stand before the bar cart, leaning against it as she watched him stalk toward her. “How was your day?”

“Good,” she murmured. “Went over my writing some, and - thought of you. I - I couldn’t -”

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” he finished for her. He quickly closed the space between them and took her in his arms, crushing his lips against hers.

Would he ever tire of her, or would he feel this daily, this urge, this insatiable desire to feel her against him, around him? He hoped he wouldn’t tire of it, his mind reeling from the eager way she wrapped her arms around his neck, straining on tip toes as she returned his searing kiss.

“God it’s so good to be able to kiss you hello when you come home,” she murmured against his lips. “I didn’t realize how long I’ve wished I could.”

“I have, lass,” he told her. “And thank the Maker I can, now.”

They returned to their passionate kiss, her fingers twisting in his hair, bodies pressed close to one another as he pushed her back against the bar cart. She began tugging at the buttons of his jeans, trying to undo them, and he hooked his fingers in the soft shorts she wore and slid them off of her in turn. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t spend as much time on her as he had before, but he noticed that his urgency was matched by hers when she took him in her hand. She didn’t bother pushing his pants down all the way, instead she merely worked to free him, just enough so that she had access.

The feeling of her fingers on him was almost too much, and he spun and bent her over the bar cart behind her. She moaned and parted her legs slightly, gripping the sides of the cart as he pushed the shirt up her back. He ran his fingers along her, happily discovering just how ready she was for him, as if she had been similarly distracted all day with thoughts of him.

After only a moment he slid into her, sheathing himself fully and drawing a deep moan from her as she tightened her fingers on the edges of the cart. Need coiled inside him, and he waited only briefly before he began thrusting into her, rough with how desperate he was for her. But she was moaning and gasping, crying ‘yes’ and ‘Ry’ to encourage him. His pace was relentless, unable to hold back after being tormented all day with thoughts of her and desperate need to have her once more.

When her cries escalated slightly he slapped one side of her rear without thinking, and the soft yelp that met his action made him pause. Before he could ask if she was all right, she moaned and pushed her hips back against his.

“Ry - do that again,” she pleaded softly. “Please - please -”

Without hesitation he repeated the action, slapping first one side and then the other, noticing each time the way that she throbbed and moaned when he did. He picked up his pace once more, occasionally bringing his hand down on one of the round cheeks of her rear and enjoying the way it jiggled in response. She moaned and flinched each time he did, but each seemed to bring her closer to her release, and soon he was repeating the action more frequently to try to push her to the edge.

As she became more desperate in her cries he reached a hand around to stroke her, his fingers circling and stroking her pearl until she was nearly sobbing. She fell apart and pushed her hips back against his, body arching and writhing on the bar cart beneath him. The sight was his undoing, the feeling of her coming around him once more fulfilling a day’s worth of longing until he groaned and thrust deep. When he could feel the last of his release leave him, he slowed and leaned over her, using a hand to turn her face so that he could press kisses to her.

“Abigail - you drive me wild,” he told her.

She giggled breathlessly and shook her head almost wonderingly. “Nice to know you fuck as hard as you make love,” she mused and then pressed another kiss to him.

“I - I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly.

She shook her head more adamantly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I really like sex - and that was amazing,” she told him. “Or rather, perfect.”

He chuckled and continued pressing kisses to her cheek and neck. “Aye, that makes two of us. I just feel like I’m making up for lost time,” he murmured. “All the times I’ve thought of you. I can’t keep my hands off you, or stop thinking of you.”

“Ditto,” she mumbled lazily.

“Ditto?”

“Me too, or - same,” she explained. “I feel the exact same, Ry. I - I was waiting here for you to get home, actually, counting the minutes. I felt so silly, but - it was definitely worth feeling a little silly.”

He chuckled and tightened how he held her, marveling over the soft confessions she was making. “Well, we have the whole evening ahead of us,” he pointed out quietly. “We can keep making up for lost time. Have some dinner together, watch the sunset, maybe?”

“We could watch a movie on my laptop, if you want,” she suggested. “Order in. Just stay naked in bed, cuddling…”

"Sounds perfect, lass,” he agreed. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before he finally pulled himself from her with a soft groan and straightened. “I should shower first, lass. Don’t want to dirty the nice sheets.”

She giggled and straightened, bending to pick up her underwear and shorts. “I think we’ve already done that,” she mused, and she winked when she caught his eye. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he told her. “I trust you.”

Abigail smiled softly at him and then nodded. “Pineapple and ham it is,” she said.

“Pine - what?” he asked, frowning.

She laughed and shook her head. “I was kidding,” she explained. “I think I’m in the mood for pepperoni, actually. That sounds good.”

“Aye, I agree,” he said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then wandered into the bathroom to shower.

Leaving the door open while he stripped and got in the shower felt natural, and Abigail wandered into the bathroom to tell him how long until the pizza would be there as he stood under the water. When she opened the shower door to take a peek and whistled at him, he splashed water at her and she shrieked and hurried to close it once more.

He pulled on a pair of the soft pants he wore around the apartment after he wandered out of the bathroom, stretching as he crossed the room. Abigail was lying on the bed, looking over something in a journal, but she glanced up when he approached the bed. “Do we have wine, lass?”

“Oh, yeah, I actually ran out and grabbed some earlier,” she told him. She pointed behind him at the kitchen. “Figured we’d want some, and it was a good chance to take a break. I’d been on a roll with my rereading, but then Jessica called and interrupted me.”

Rylen turned from where he was opening the bottle to pour them both a glass. “What did she have to say?”

“Well I called her last night and left a voicemail, so she was getting back to me,” she explained. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and began to shift aside the journals and papers scattered about the bed. “She was furious, though, you should have heard her. She called me on her way to the judge to see if she could get the court date moved up, and was about to call Henry.”

“Henry?” Rylen asked as he moved to join her on the bed, passing her the glass of red wine he had poured for her.

“John’s lawyer,” she explained.

Rylen frowned as he leaned back on the pillows beside her, stretching his legs out. “So what does that mean now?”

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug. She took a thoughtful sip of her wine and then leaned back on his shoulder. “Just wait to hear back from Jessica, I guess. See if this actually leads to things speeding up, maybe go to court sooner. We’ll see.”

He smiled and tilted her head to him with a hand, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “Aye, we will,” he agreed. After a moment he looked over the pile of journals, his arms still cradling her to him where they reclined. “So, you worked on your writing today?”

“I did,” she answered with a bright smile. “Well, okay, I tried to read through it again. I haven’t been able to really work on it or read it in months, so it was - weird trying to get back into it.”

“What’s it about, lass?” he prompted her, taking in the way she lit up, her eyes bright like she was eager to discuss it.

“It’s a - mystery, sort of?” she told him. “It’s this cold case murder mystery - oh, um - it happened a long time ago and was never solved? But someone leaves this cryptic clue in their will, and so it re-opens the investigation when they pass away, and all these family secrets come out. I don’t know, rereading it…” She trailed off and took a sip of wine as she thought.

“Something wrong with it?” he asked.

“I just - didn’t feel as excited about it as I used to be,” she sighed. “Like I was disconnected from the idea. I don’t know, maybe I just need more time to get back into the feel of it, see if I can remember how I wanted to end it.”

“You’ve got plenty of time now, lass,” he assured her. “If you need someone to read it, I’d be glad to.”

She giggled and raised her gaze to his, a tender look in her eyes. “Thanks, Ry,” she murmured. “I - I appreciate you asking me about it.”

“I’m interested, of course I want to know more,” he told her. He took a sip of his wine and was about to ask her more when a knock sounded on the door.

“Oh! The pizza,” she said, and she passed him her glass of wine and hopped off the bed.

Rylen watched as she opened the door and greeted the man who was waiting there, signing a paper and taking a large box from him. “Thanks! Have a good night,” she said, and she closed the door. “Mmm, smells so good,” she commented as she crossed to the bed with the box.

“Should I grab plates, lass?” he asked.

“Nah, let’s just pig out and eat it out of the box,” she told him, and she grinned. Once she’d set the box down she curled up beside him and took her wine glass back. “Ooh, what movie should we watch?”

“I - am probably the last person to ask that,” he replied, letting out several barks of laughter. “I’ll trust your judgment on that, too.”

“I feel like something funny,” she murmured, and she began to scroll through pictures on the small screen of her laptop. “There are some classics you should probably see and haven’t, that I think you’d enjoy - oh wait! This is perfect.”

“What is it?” he asked as he opened the pizza box to reveal the large pepperoni pizza resting within. The smell made his mouth water, and he realized suddenly just how much of an appetite he had worked up between work and how they had greeted one another when he got home.

“‘Men in Tights,’” she answered, but when she caught his eye she shrugged. “Just - let’s watch, I think you’ll like it.”

“Of course I will, lass,” he assured her, and he leaned over to press a kiss to her lips. “Because it’s time with you.”

She giggled, but the tender look in her eyes that met his words made his heart swell. With one last kiss they settled close beside one another, grabbing slices of pizza and drinking wine as the movie began.


	19. Abby & John

Not for the first time that day, Abby set aside the journal in her hands with a sigh. It was all there, the notes, the plans, the outline, more information about her characters than was probably needed. None of it was sparking anything though.

It was as if all of her words had dried up.

Lounging back on the pillows she ran a hand over her forehead, pushing her hair back as she thought. This mystery had come from a darker place, a mindset she hadn’t even realized she had been in. Now, though, she could see the hints of it in every word. Sadness, loneliness, regrets.

At least at the moment, she couldn’t relate to the story. The bones were there, the first draft was basically complete, but she couldn’t bring herself to flesh it out. To make it whole. There was no muse for it.

Words could come to her, but they came when she thought about something else. She jotted these down on spare pages of the journals, sketching out an outline so that the idea didn’t slip away. Yet she continued to come back to the skeleton of the mystery, unwilling to abandon it. After all, it was nearly completed, and the editor she had been in contact with would probably still take her calls or emails. They had been interested in the idea, she’d just needed to provide them with a manuscript.

Instead, she found herself reclining on the bed, staring up at the sheer curtains draped over the rectangular frame above her. Every chance it got her mind wandered to Rylen, to the peaceful night they’d had. Pizza and a movie, watching him laugh hysterically at _Men in Tights_ , getting to share that bit of Earth with him. They’d drunk wine and snuggled close in bed, as if enjoying a haven all their own.

He had asked about her writing, had listened attentively, had reassured her that she could get back into it. That inspiration would strike again. That he would help her however he could. The sweet assurances and interest had bolstered her spirits, so that after he left for work that morning she decided to try her hand at it again. There was time, she wanted to see what she could accomplish before work that evening.

But at the moment, closing her eyes just made her think of the sweet words he had said while he made love to her the night before. Maybe she’d just have to ease back into her writing, once she wasn’t so distracted by the newness of love.

Huffing out another sigh she sat up, determined to look through it once more before she gave it up for the day. As soon as she picked up her journal, though, her phone began ringing beside her. One peek at the caller ID and she hurried to answer.

“Hi, Jessica,” she greeted.

“Abby, are you in the middle of anything?” Jessica answered.

“No, no, not at all,” Abby assured her. “Any news?”

“Yes, about the best I can give at the moment,” Jessica told her. She still had a slight shortness to her tone, her words clipped as if she was doing her best to hide irritation.

“And?” Abby prompted eagerly, but her insides twisted. The best she could give at the moment may still be bad news.

“After speaking with Henry and myself about what happened, the judge agreed to move the court date up,” Jessica answered. “The docket is still pretty full though, and considering it isn’t a case involving children or fearing for your life, the best they could do was in a month.”

“One month is better than three,” Abby mused, but she let out a soft sigh.

“I agree,” Jessica told her. “And speaking with Henry, it was clear that John’s actions were a surprise to him as well. He agreed to speak with him and the judge sounded open to some sort of injunction to prevent it happening again within the next month -”

“What good will that do?” Abby asked. “I mean, if I hadn’t been able to get the bed somehow before he got rid of it, it would have just -”

“I know,” Jessica interrupted. “But it would impose fines, deterrents - it’s a good thing.”

“You know how much John is worth,” Abby said with an incredulous laugh. “Fines won’t stop him -”

“Trust me, Abby,” Jessica said. “I’m doing everything I can. In the meantime, continue as you are. So far, your actions have all been scrupulous and principled. The judge will see the difference, and that works in our favor. Although…”

“What?” Abby prompted again as Jessica trailed off.

“Abby, as your lawyer I need you to be honest with me about something, so that I’m not blindsided by it later,” Jessica began slowly. “Your relationship with Rylen, is it - romantic in nature?”

Abby chewed her lip for a moment, heart racing, but then she sighed. “It - it is. Now, that is,” she answered. “It wasn’t, until - well, Monday, actually.”

Something that sounded like a breath of laughter escaped Jessica. “I see,” she finally said. “Thank you for being honest, it’s just easiest if I know.”

“Does that - matter?” Abby asked tentatively.

“You are living separately, and have been for several months,” Jessica replied. “It would not...destroy your case, but it would be best if you keep it to yourself until things are finalized. Just to prevent it from being used against you, even though the relationship began only recently.”

“Even though I didn’t meet Rylen until after John and I were already living separately?” Abby mused wryly.

“In the eyes of the law, you’re still technically married, so,” Jessica sighed, “as I said. Just keep things private, and it should be fine.”

“You’re not - you don’t sound like you’re surprised or, I don’t know - angry?” Abby observed. “I almost expected a scolding.”

“When you move on in the course of your divorce is not my concern,” Jessica told her. “My job is to represent your interests and get you out of the marriage in the way that’s best for you. As far as I’m concerned, don’t go public with it at all so that it isn’t a problem while I do that job, and everything else is up to you.”

Abby giggled softly. “Thank you, again,” she said. “I appreciate you helping with this, and getting to work on it so soon after I called. I know this is just pro bono work for you, but -”

“I treat all of my clients the same, Abby,” Jessica assured her. “I intend to win your case, which means doing everything I can to accomplish that. Now, let me know the minute anything else goes wrong or changes, but otherwise - enjoy the rest of your day. We’ll set up a meeting soon to prepare for court.”

“Thank you, Jessica,” Abby said. After brief farewells Abby hung up the call, but opened her text messages.

 

_Heard back from Jessica, court is now in a month instead of three, and they’re going to censure John to try to prevent him doing anything else shady. She did mention that you and I should keep our relationship private so - maybe don’t tell the lads. This is good news, though. Xoxo_

 

She sent the message to Rylen and then began to straighten the journals she had on the bed. Now she knew she certainly wouldn’t be able to focus on her writing. Deciding she may as well focus instead on cleaning a little, she pushed off the bed and stretched.

The pizza box was still on the floor where they had set it when they were done and needed the space on the bed. Their wine glasses were still on the windowsill where he had put them before he rolled over and began kissing and undressing her. She was wearing his shirt again, enjoying the way it smelled too much to take it off.

With a sigh she began straightening up, but she’d only gotten as far as moving the pizza box to the recycling when there was a knock on the door.

Frowning she quickly grabbed the nearest pair of pants, which just happened to be Rylen’s sweats that he had thrown off the bed the night before. She pulled them on and crossed the apartment, rolling the waistband so they would fit as she stood on her toes to look through the peephole.

“Shit,” she breathed.

For a long moment she considered what to do, and she watched as John shifted and leaned on the doorframe, hanging his head. After long enough without a response he knocked again, and this time called, “Abby? Please - I know you’re home.”

Rolling her eyes heavenward she stepped back from the door and folded her arms. “Go away,” she called back.

“Abby, please let me in,” he said. There was a plaintive quality to his voice, a soft waver to the way he said ‘please.’ “I’m just here to talk, I promise.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she reminded him, but she chewed a thumb and considered.

“Please, Abby,” he repeated, but that was all he said.

Just please.

With a groan she arched her neck, closing her eyes as she came to a decision. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. She stepped forward and unlocked the door, but she opened it with the chain still fastened, so that it was only open enough to peer out at him. “What do you want?”

He raised his head and leaned away from the door, a look like relief coming across his face at the sight of her. “Like I said, just - just to talk,” he told her. “Nothing else, I promise.”

She let her gaze wander over him, noticing that he was wearing a regular v-neck shirt and jeans, which was odd to see him in outside of the house. His chin was covered in several days’ worth of white stubble, dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were slightly slumped, not standing as tall and proud as he normally did.

Abby frowned and closed the door enough to loosen the chain so she could open it to get a better look at him. “Jesus Christ, John, you look terrible,” she said before she could stop herself.

He gestured wordlessly behind her, silently asking permission. She sighed and stepped back, allowing him to walk into the apartment. His eyes wandered over the tiny studio space for a moment, taking it in. He lingered on the bed, and she cringed a little when she realized the wine glasses were still beside it, the sheets and duvet a scattered mess. But after staring silently at it for a few moments he simply turned to the kitchen. He sank onto a bar stool, elbows resting on the cart before him, his head in one hand.

Abby shut the door and slowly walked to the other side of the cart, putting it between them as she observed him. “God, when was the last time you slept?” she asked finally.

“I can’t remember,” he muttered, still rubbing his brow with his fingers.

Exhaling slowly she shook her head as she considered him. “I’ll - make some coffee,” she said, and she set to work starting the kettle and measuring out coffee grounds for the French press.

“Thank you, you don’t have to -” he began, lowering his hand and watching her work.

“It’s fine, I want some anyway,” she told him, brushing off his objection. She noticed him taking in the oversized shirt and sweats she was wearing, but he simply folded his hands and looked away. “So - you said you wanted to talk, but I notice not a lot of talking is happening.”

“I - I’m trying to decide where to begin,” he admitted softly.

The electric kettle dinged, and Abby poured the heated water over the coffee grounds. She glanced at the clock and made a note of the time. Grabbing two mugs, she set one before him and the other before the empty stool. After she’d circled the cart and took her seat beside him, she leaned one elbow on the cart and faced him, waiting expectantly.

“I’m - I’m so -” he began, but his voice cracked and he shook his head. “I can’t start with that, you won’t believe me,” he muttered. Dragging a hand over his whiskered face, he thought for a moment longer before he tried again. “I’ve been horrible to you.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, stunned speechless for a moment before she scoffed lightly. “That’s an understatement,” she murmured.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then shook his head and looked down at where his hands were folded. “I made so many mistakes, but it was like - once I started making them, I couldn’t stop,” he said. “Not just with the divorce, not just with Jenna, just - always. I feel like I always did the wrong thing, like I put us on this path and it was always going to end this way. But I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to let you go -”

“John, slow down,” Abby interrupted, sitting up straighter as she frowned at him. “You’re rambling, I just - where is this coming from?”

“He was right, I - I treated you like something I owned, like an object meant to please me -”

“Who?”

“Rylen,” John told her, glancing her way once more. “He accused me of treating you like a toy, like I owned you. And that’s the thing, Abby - I - I did. I see it now. My expectations of you, the way I loved you. I - I loved you because of how you made me feel. How I felt with you, how I felt because you were - _mine_.”

Abby stared, swallowing past the emotion in her throat. When she opened her mouth to speak, though, he shook his head.

“Please, let me try to get this out,” he requested. “I regret how I treated you, more than - more than I can express. I haven’t been able to sleep since we had lunch, really, just - thinking of the things you said. And then Sunday, at the gala, I - I just - I didn’t really realize what I had until you were slipping through my fingers.”

“You mean until you considered the possibility I might be moving on?” Abby mused.

But he shook his head and stared at his hands for a moment. He was wearing his wedding band, still, and he twisted it absently around his finger as he thought. “That certainly helped me realize a few things,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s been - more than that. The things you said to me that day…” He hung his head again. “You loved me and only ever wanted me, but that you weren’t enough for me in return no matter how much you gave. I - I had never considered I had made you feel that way. The more I thought about it - Abby, you were right.”

“That’s - a first,” she commented dryly. His words were bringing up too many feelings, and she gulped and looked at the clock, busying herself with plunging the French press to distract from them. She poured them both a full mug and then picked hers up, holding it to keep her hands occupied.

“You’ve been - right before, I just don’t know how to admit when I’m wrong,” he told her, and he gave a brief smirk before reaching for his mug of coffee. After a sip he continued. “I thought if I bought you enough, gave you everything you could ever possibly want, you would just - only ever want or need me. But you got lost in working on your writing, and I - I felt neglected.” He shook his head again after the confession, as if he was ashamed. “I didn’t realize that maybe it was my turn to support you, as you had always supported me. You’re right, you gave and gave, but I - I never gave in return. At least, not the way you needed me to. You needed love and support, interest, and I - I only paid you back with - objects. Like our marriage was a transaction.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Abby muttered.

John took another drink of coffee and then leaned forward, rubbing his brow with his fingers again, forehead propped in his hand. “If I had just let you have that - if I had let you focus on something for you, for once, been patient and realized it was something you needed to do for yourself - would I still have you?” he mused quietly. “If I hadn’t been so selfish -”

“John -”

“No, Abby, I - I know, I know that I’ve lost you,” he told her, raising his gaze to hers once more. “And I know it was my fault. Jenna - that was - another mistake.” He trailed off with a sigh.

Abby shifted on the stool, fidgeting uncomfortably with the mug she held between her hands. “Did you - did you love her?” she asked softly before she could stop herself.

“No,” he confessed. “I’ve - I’ve never loved anyone but you. Or at least - as much as I’ve ever loved anyone but myself. Jenna happened because I was selfish, because I - felt like I wasn’t the center of your world anymore, as - childish as that sounds. It was a moment of weakness, and then when you pulled back after you found those text messages, it was a mistake that kept happening, the more that we drifted apart and fought. It had already started by then, but - it - I don’t know. I have no excuses for my actions, only - regret. And I’m so, so sorry, Abby. If I could take back the pain I caused you, I would.”

Abby blinked and wiped under her eyes with a finger, pressing her lips together as she avoided his gaze. When she had managed to steady herself she glanced at him. “But the divorce -”

“I was angry,” he admitted. “I couldn’t believe that you would leave me, as ridiculous as that sounds. I wanted to show you what life would be like without me, I never considered that you - really did want that, and weren’t just angry with me. I wrongly assumed what I’d done could or should be forgiven. And the more you slipped through my fingers and thrived without me, the harder I tried to hold onto you, even though…”

Here he trailed off, a pained expression coming across his face. Abby watched as he took a long gulp of coffee, seemingly lost in some thought only he knew. Finally she cleared her throat. “Even though what?” she prompted.

“I never told you this, but - the day your mother died, she - she made me promise her something,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. Abby’s heart sped up, watching as he stared down at the ring he twisted on his finger. Her gaze flicked down to his hands as he slowly slid the ring off his finger and set it down before him. “She knew - knew that I would hurt you, knew that I would fuck this up. At the time I denied it could ever happen, but she was - wiser than me. She saw this coming, knew me better than I knew myself, it seems.”

Abby looked between John and the ring sitting before him, frowning as her heart continued to race. “What - what did she make you promise her?” she whispered, voice wavering with the apprehension flooding her.

“She made me promise that I would let you go, when it came time,” he answered.

“I - she -” Abby stuttered for a moment and then fell silent, considering the ring in front of him. “But you -”

“Have been ignoring my promise to her?” he finished for her. “I know, and I shouldn't have. Her words have haunted me, and your words - your request for me to just leave you alone, I - I should have listened to her. I should have just freed you, you - you deserved it. You deserve better than me.”

Abby stared, speechless at his confessions, at the realization that her mother had known and made him promise such a thing. Tears came to her eyes once more as she watched him shift on the bar stool, reaching to pull something out of his back pocket. He unfolded the papers and held them out to her.

“What’s -” she began as she accepted them.

“The settlement agreement you wanted me to sign,” he told her. “I only made one change - I added a larger settlement amount, to make up for how you’ve been struggling since I filed, for - how I’ve treated you. But everything else - I left it as is. I agreed to all of it, and I’ve signed every line I needed to.”

Flipping through the pages, Abby scanned the lines, all the spots marked with his initials and signature, even at the line confessing the cause was adultery, that he was culpable. The one straight pen mark through the settlement amount really was the only change, and when she saw the amount she spluttered and looked up at him. “John, that’s - I -”

“I’m already paying dearly for what I’ve done, this is nothing,” he insisted. “You deserve more, really.”

“I - I just,” she shook her head, skimming over the papers again. “This is real? This isn’t some - scheme to still try to get me back, or get back at me?”

“It’s real, Abby,” he told her. “I - what I did Monday, I’m - I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I was hurting, angry, and - heartbroken. But I did that to myself. I did that to both of us. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and I - I promise, Abby, this is the truth. I need to let you go, like I promised I would.”

Abby looked up at him, taking in the forlorn yet sincere way he was watching her. She returned the paper clip to the top of the of papers, setting them on the cart before her. “I’ll - I’ll want Jessica to look over them, before I sign, I -”

“Of course,” he agreed softly. “I understand. She can call Henry if anything is wrong, I called him on my way over here and told him. He can take care of it. I - I want you to be happy, Abby. And I’ll do whatever it takes, even - even this.”

Blinking rapidly she looked down again, trying to hold in the emotions that were overwhelming her. “John, I don’t - I don’t know what to say.”

He chuckled sadly. “I know,” he murmured. “Please, Abby, if you - if you ever need anything, please let me know. I’ll be there for you, and I’ll do what I can.”

She shook her head and let out a watery laugh. “I, uh - thanks, I guess,” she told him, feeling at a complete loss. For several moments they sat in silence, and then he stood. She watched as he pocketed his ring, flexing his hand slightly as if acutely aware of its absence and trying to adjust.

“I should - go,” he said. “I’ve trespassed long enough on your day. Thank you for letting me in, and listening, and - for the coffee.”

Abby pushed herself off her stool, folding her arms and nodding. “Yeah, I - try to get some sleep,” she chided, uncertain of what else she could say. Her mind felt foggy, bittersweet amazement overwhelming her.

He smiled and looked down at his feet. “Maybe I’ll finally be able to, now that this has been put to rest,” he agreed. He looked back up, his brows quirking into a slight frown. “Is - is it too much to ask for a goodbye?”

She considered him for a moment and then unfolded her arms, stepping forward to close the distance between them. He took her face between his hands and held her gaze, grey eyes searching her face for a moment, heartache reflected in their depths even as he smiled. “Goodbye, gorgeous,” he murmured, and he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead in a lingering kiss.

Slowly she circled her arms around his waist, closing her eyes as she did. “G-goodbye, handsome,” she replied softly.

His lips pressed more firmly to her skin, fingers stroking her cheeks tenderly for just a moment - and then he released her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wicked Game is definitely not required reading for this and I don't expect anyone to read it, it's just there as a character study and because I had too much backstory and headcanon for Abby/John and ~~needed~~ wanted to put it somewhere. (If you are reading it, though - thank you! But no pressure, ever  <3)  
> Especially since it's well behind this fic at the moment, I'll answer any and all questions you may have about John. Coming up soon it will catch up to the start of this fic, and I'll make a note of what chapter in case you're only interested in John's POV of scenes from this fic (and his opinion of Rylen, hehe).  
> But now that this chapter has finally happened, I can talk about Abby/John without spoiling anything, so - feel free to ask!
> 
> xx,  
> Lara


	20. Good Friends, Good Food, Booze, and Video Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels so meta. The whole time I was writing it, this was me:
> 
>  

The door opened after a few knocks, and Russ’ cheery face greeted them both. “Hey! Come on in, guys,” he said, stepping back and sweeping a hand to invite them in. “Welcome to Casa Byrne!”

“Thanks, mate,” Rylen greeted with a smile. He stepped aside and gestured to let Abigail enter before him.

“We brought some beer and wine,” Abigail told Russ, giving him a quick one-armed hug before she showed him a cloth bag with a few bottles in it. “Wasn’t sure what - hey, how are you, Gabriela?”

Abigail and Gabriela hugged and placed kisses on each other’s cheeks, smiling and exchanging pleasantries. Russ and Rylen clasped arms, Rylen patting him on the shoulder with his other hand before he released him.

“Thank you so much for having us over - oh my god, something smells amazing,” Abigail commented enthusiastically.

“Yeah, Gabriela is making chicken tinga,” Russ told her. “Here, you can leave your shoes there and - I’ve got the beer, here - ooh, good choice.”

“I didn’t even know what you were making but I’m glad that’s what I grabbed,” Abigail agreed. She smiled and followed Gabriela into the small kitchen area, offering help as she set down the bag of wine.

Rylen slid his shoes off and looked around the small apartment. It was larger than the one he and Abigail were currently sharing, with a small bedroom off the room they were currently in. There was a sofa against one wall, facing a wooden cabinet with a large flat object on it, which Rylen realized was a screen. Against the wall adjacent to the sofa was a desk with a smaller screen on it, something that reminded him of the laptop Abigail had finally explained to him.

“Ooh, that rosé looks good,” he heard Gabriela comment.

“I agree - want to open that first?” Abigail suggested.

“Perfect. I made salsa and tortillas too, and realized - has he had any Mexican food yet?”

“Some, but definitely not homemade. I’m practically useless in the kitchen,” Abigail said as she began to open a bottle of pink wine.

“Oh I _love_ cooking,” Gabriela gushed.

“She’s absolutely amazing at it, too,” Russell chimed in. “Want a beer, man? I know it’s early but they’ve already cracked open the wine.”

“Hey - it’s Sunday, we’re hanging out, and I was promised booze and Dragon Age for my day off,” Abigail teased. She passed a large glass of wine to Gabriela, and they tapped their glasses together before taking a sip. When she caught Rylen’s eye she winked, then turned back to offer more help with the food.

“Here, Rylen,” Russell passed over a bottle of beer before he crossed to put the rest in the fridge. “While they grab that we can get the game set up, show you the controls.”

“Sounds good,” Rylen agreed. He took a swig of his beer as he followed him to the sofa.

Russ had invited them over so that Rylen could finally play this game he was apparently a part of, now that they had a chance. Abigail had readily agreed, declaring it a perfect double date and insisting they make a day of it. He had merely been happy for a chance to try to take her mind off of things, to see her enjoying herself.

The past few days had been happy ones, but underneath it was a tense anticipation in both of them. Her description of the visit from John had done little to ease Rylen’s concerns, and he found himself still suspicious of what other tricks the man might try on them. As they’d laid in one another’s arms in bed, Abigail had confessed that she worried John seeing proof that they were sharing the bed would cause him to do something in retaliation.

Yet so far, nothing.

Abigail had arranged a meeting in two days’ time to finalize the signing, to meet with John and the lawyers one last time. And then, she had explained, it would only be a matter of a few weeks while the court approved everything.

She would be free.

He glanced to where she and Gabriela were putting together a tray, smiling to himself as he watched her laughing and looking so carefree. They were keeping things private, but Russ and Gabriela had both already assumed and proven themselves trustworthy. Something about being around their friends and being openly together made Rylen’s heart swell with an odd sort of pride.

Returning his attention to Russ, he did his best to focus on the instructions about the strange plastic ‘controller’ Russ had handed to him. There were odd buttons and small levers to maneuver, and he tested them out as Russ described each one.

“It’ll be easier once you start up the game, it’ll give you a tutorial,” Russ explained. “And we’ll go slow - no rush. We won’t laugh at you either.”

“ _You_ won’t laugh at him,” Abigail said, and she giggled as she took her place on the floor beside where Rylen’s feet rested. She set the tray she held down on the table before the sofa and picked her wine glass off of it. “I make no such promises, it’s my right as his - um -” She trailed off a little awkwardly and glanced up at Rylen with a soft frown.

Rylen raised his eyebrows at her and then chuckled. “Oh, so my lass intends to mock me mercilessly instead of support me?” he teased.

“Yep,” she told him firmly, and then she dissolved into a fit of laughter. She reached to his calf and squeezed it, leaning her head on his knee. “I won’t mock too much, how’s that? Here, have some salsa, it’s amazing.”

“How do I -” he began, frowning at the bowl of what looked like a chunky red sauce.

“Here,” Abigail said and she passed him a crispy yellow triangle. “Dip it in or scoop some up.”

Rylen watched as she dipped her own triangle into the sauce, scooping some up and then eating all of it. She wiggled her eyebrows at him and he smiled before copying her. The red sauce was spicy, but incredibly flavorful, and he nodded approvingly as he chewed. “Very good, lass,” he told Gabriela after he swallowed.

She blushed and shrugged slightly, giggling as if embarrassed. “Th-thanks,” she finally said. “My abuela taught me how to cook growing up, and now it always reminds me of her.”

“Oh, did she - did she pass?” Abigail asked tentatively, making a face as if she hadn’t meant to ask.

“She did, last year,” Gabriela answered, but she smiled reassuringly as if she didn’t mind the question.

“I’m so sorry,” Abigail assured her, reaching across with a hand to squeeze Gabriela’s fingers.

“Ab-abwhelah?” Rylen repeated, realizing he likely pronounced it all wrong.

Abigail and Gabriela giggled. “My grandmother,” Gabriela explained. “That’s what I called her, it’s Spanish.”

“Ah,” Rylen said, and he nodded.

“Okay, are we - are we ready for the awesomeness we all came to witness?” Russ asked, and he handed the controller he had been messing with back to Rylen.

“Wait - I want a picture of Rylen playing video games,” Abigail said, and she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s just - so funny. No one but us would get it but…” She aimed the camera at him and smiled widely, and he quirked a brow at her as she took a photo of him.

“Can we just - start this?” Rylen asked with a few chuckles. He was still confused about what this game was, what this all meant. But the idea of seeing Thedas again, in whatever form, filled him with anticipation, anxiety and excitement mingling together at the prospect.

“Sorry,” Abigail told him and she giggled and leaned back against his legs. “Okay, hit ‘new game.’ Wait - um - are you like - going to be upset if you see the Conclave, um, get destroyed?”

Rylen shook his head, frowning slightly as he looked for the right button on the controller. He hit the small blue ‘x’ as Russ instructed him, and the screen changed. The music changed as well, the marching lines of what seemed to be Templars and mages faltered, and an explosion rent the screen. “I - oh,” he remarked, frowning as he watched the screen go black and then change yet again.

“You okay?” Abigail asked, resting a hand on his knee and squeezing.

“Aye, was that - it was a bit more than that,” he told her. He shook his head with another frown as he saw options presented to him on the screen. “I - this is how this is told here? And what’s - what’s -”

“Yeah, you need to choose your Inquisitor - er, the person who walked out of the Fade,” Russ told him. “So like - these are your options, you can make whoever you want -”

“But it was a young woman, a human mage,” Rylen explained. “That’s who was there. I saw her walk out of the Fade myself…” He trailed off, realizing the other three were staring at him wide-eyed, hanging on to his every word. Clearing his throat he looked back at Russ. “Lad, just - show me how to choose that, to see the woman I saw.”

Russ nodded and guided him through the screens, telling him which buttons to press. Beside him Abigail leaned against his legs and chatted happily with Gabriela in between helping guide him with the controls and options as well. Gabriela had some fabric and shears before her on the ground, working on measuring and piecing things together while she watched him.

“Oh, I have my world state loaded,” Russ commented. “That’s fine though, or should be. Hey you said Cousland was married to Alistair, right? And who did you tell me was the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“Marian Hawke,” Rylen answered with a frown. “But she disappeared after the explosion of the Chantry, even Varric didn’t know where she was.”

“Okay, we should be good then,” Russ said. “I made a world state that mirrored what you’d told me, so this should be closest to how things were.”

Rylen nodded and hit the small ‘x’ like Russ encouraged him to. The screen changed, and after several moments there was swirling green, and a figure lying on the ground. He frowned and glanced at Abigail and then Russ, but they both just watched as the person pushed themself up and the screen focused on their face.

“Who’s -”

“The Herald,” Abigail answered for him. “It’s who you’ll play, the person who fell out of the Fade with the mark on their hand.”

“She didn’t look like this - although - what is this? Is it like a movie?” Rylen asked, frown sharpening as he stared at the woman on the screen. She was like a normal person, but things were off just enough that she looked odd, not real.

“It’s animated, someone drew and made it with a computer, it was programmed - I’m sure we can find videos later that explain how, if you want,” Abigail told him with a smile. “Here, do you want - do you care what she looks like?”

“Well, just - that’s not who I saw walk out of the Fade, I was there,” Rylen said, and he gestured the controller at the screen.

“I got you, stud,” Abigail assured him with a wink and a giggle. She held her hand out for the controller and he passed it over. “Tell me what she looked like and I’ll get it right for you. Otherwise we’ll be stuck on character creation all day.”

“Isn’t that usually the case?” Gabriela mused, and Russ and Abigail joined her in laughter.

“Eat some chips and salsa,” Abigail encouraged him, and she started fiddling with the controller. Things were changing on the screen, adjustments being made to the face and hair of the woman. Rylen guided her, providing details of the young mage he remembered helping get to the healers in Haven.

“I didn’t know her name, though,” he told her.

“That’s okay, I have a feeling it was Evelyn,” Abigail said as she finished up crafting the woman’s features. “This looks - this is so weird, she looks like my Inquisitor that I make when I play.”

“Is she - she looks like the one from your fic,” Russ pointed out.

“Oh she does! I reread it recently,” Gabriela chimed in excitedly.

“Reread? Oh Christ tell me you hadn’t already read it before, had you?” Abigail grumbled as she handed the controller back to Rylen.

“I had, I remember subscribing and keeping up with it as you posted it,” Gabriela told her with a smile.

In response, Abigail picked up her glass of wine and drained the rest. “Anyone need anything?” she asked as she pushed herself to her feet.

The other two shook their heads, and Rylen smiled at her before returning his attention to the screen. The woman was walking through swirling green mist, black fog, and then large spiders were chasing her up stairs, and -

“So it was Andraste?” Rylen asked when he saw the glowing figure straining to reach the woman’s hand.

“Not exactly,” Russ answered.

“Spoilers,” Abigail said as she resumed her seat once more, a full glass of wine in her hand. She set it away from her on the table, leaning back on Rylen’s legs so that she could watch. Despite her reaction to the other two talking about her writing, she was still smiling and seemed content.

Pulling himself from the distraction of her smile he turned his gaze back to the screen, watching as the woman fell out of the Fade. “There were more soldiers there, a few Templars - wait, I was there,” Rylen commented absently. “I was giving directions, made certain she got back to some healers after she fainted. We were looking for survivors, fighting demons that were beginning to fall out of the Fade.”

Again the other three sat staring at him, drinking in every word. Russ especially looked like he wanted to ask questions, but then Rylen saw a familiar figure on the screen.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he watched her speaking on the screen. The voice was just slightly off, the ‘animation’ not quite able to capture how she really looked - much as the pictures he had seen of ‘himself’ when he had looked.

“Is that - is that how she really was?” Russ asked.

“She was more beautiful in person,” Rylen answered. “Formidable, yes - but truly a beauty.”

He caught Abigail’s eye and noticed a slight scowl on her face and she picked her glass of wine up. Clearing his throat he instead tried to focus on what was happening on the screen.

“I don’t remember the prisoner waking up,” he said after a few moments. Russ showed him how to choose the dialogue options, how to respond to the Seeker’s questions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the interaction was creating in him. “How - how long was the prisoner asleep?”

“I think it’s about three days?” Abigail answered with a shrug.

“I - I missed it, then,” Rylen mused softly. “It had been two days since the Breach opened, I - I spent two days fighting demons beneath a rift. And then…”

Abigail’s hand came to rest on his arm, fingers stroking and tracing the lines of his tattoo. “You okay, Ry? I know this has to be...weird probably doesn’t even begin to cover it. But if it’s upsetting you -”

“No, it’s not upsetting, more like - I’m just trying to make sense of it,” he assured her. He placed his hand over her fingers, stroking them gently as he considered how to explain it. “I guess I hadn’t fully realized until now how much I’d missed. Really, Abigail, I’m fine.”

She smiled at him and pushed herself up to her knees, looping her arms around his neck. “Tell me if you aren’t, promise?” she insisted. He nodded and she returned the gesture before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, tenderly reassuring him as she cupped his cheek with one hand.

“Ugh, and I thought you guys were obnoxious before you got together,” Russ teased, voice drifting to Rylen as if from far away - even though they were sitting side by side.

Abigail flushed and giggled, pulling away from Rylen after she mouthed the word, ‘later,’ to him. He smiled, feeling reinvigorated to continue. She sat back down and cleared her throat, picking up her glass to take a sip of her wine. “What are you working on?” she asked Gabriela as if trying to brush off what had just happened.

“Halloween costumes,” Gabriela answered. “We’re going as one of our ships - Carver and Merrill.”

“Oh, I love them,” Abigail agreed. “I totally forgot about Halloween, I haven’t been thinking that far ahead.”

“I don’t blame you,” Gabriela said with a soft laugh. "We're just so excited to be able to do a fun couple's costume."

“What’s - what’s Halloween, lass?” Rylen asked, distracted from the strange controls he was trying to navigate for a moment.

“It’s a holiday at the end of October - you dress up as something or someone - it’s a lot of fun,” Abigail told him.

“We’re having a party - you guys are invited, of course,” Russ chimed in after he finished explaining something on the controller to Rylen. “You could wear your armor - you said you still have it, right?”

“Aye, but it hasn’t been cleaned well. And my shirt and breeches were ruined from my injuries,” Rylen explained.

“Not a problem, I can help with that,” Gabriela assured him. “I think that would be fun! Ooh, who could you be though, Abby? Need to complete the theme. Maybe Leliana?”

“She could be Cass,” Russ suggested.

“What? No - let me be Sera or Isabela, then I can just swear up a storm and drink all the time, it'd be easy to stay in character,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “I - I don’t think I’d be a really good anyone.”

“The Inquisitor, then?” Gabriela suggested, undaunted. “Or Josephine, I still have my costume. Or Marian Hawke, or Bethany? Those might be good.”

“Um -”

“Morrigan?” Russ added. “Or Lace Harding?”

“Guys -”

“We’ll think of something,” Gabriela told her. “And I can help with your costume. I have a sewing machine and tons of fabric -”

“Um, thanks,” Abby muttered, but she looked flustered. “Hey, Ry, is this - is this what the Frostbacks looked like?”

“Close,” he answered absently, trying to focus on the controller for his first fight against a demon. It didn’t help that he had to keep looking down at the buttons and missed what was happening on the screen - but he finally managed to defeat it.

For a time they sat simply focused on the screen, discussing Thedas, the controls, helping him figure everything out. It felt surreal, but he still wasn’t upset by it - more like he was eager now to see what had happened after he fell into the rift, considering how much seemed to have occurred after that.

When he reached a decision, Abigail suddenly tensed and grabbed his knee. “Pick the forward charge, not the mountain path,” she suggested.

“I don’t know -” Russ muttered.

“Trust me,” Abigail said.

Rylen made the choice she told him to, frowning when he took in the way she was watching the screen and still squeezing his knee with her fingers. As he ran forward and found the battlefield, he realized the reason for her apprehension. And her insistence.

When the short battle had ended, he watched as the Seeker approached an all too familiar figure - and something twisted his insides slightly. “Oh,” he let out soft as a sigh. Abigail kept her fingers on his knee, rubbing gentle circles and squeezing a few times. “Well, he - he’s all right, at least, he - we were both struggling, fighting that many days without rest.”

Rylen swallowed hard, and Abigail moved her hand to his. “Figured it’d be better to see him sooner rather than later, so you - knew,” she told him. “You okay?”

“Aye, aye,” he muttered absently, watching the conversation between the Commander and the prisoner - Evelyn - unfold. “That’s - a worry off my mind, I suppose.”

“He goes on to do great things,” Abigail assured him. “And if it really was Evelyn, I doubt he goes back on lyrium. Instead they probably fall in love and - oh wait.”

“Oh!” Russ exclaimed suddenly, eyes wide as he started laughing.

“What?” Rylen asked, looking between the two before returning his gaze to the animated version of his closest friend on the screen.

“Um, so - if you really want to play this as it probably happened,” Abigail began slowly, a tiny smirk pulling up one corner of her mouth. “You’re gonna have to romance him.”

“I - what?”

“Yep,” Russ said. “There’s a romance option, and chances are - the Herald you saw ended up falling hard for him.”

“He’s my - he was my best mate,” Rylen grumbled. When the other three began to giggle he shook his head. “Aye, all right - can we just - continue?”

He turned his attention back to the game, feeling a slight pang at the sight of Cullen on the screen again. But this meant he was fine, and Abigail had assured him that he had likely ended up all right. Rylen hoped that that continued to be the case if he had gone missing, leaving the Commander without his Second. There were others who could take his place, but they had always worked so well together, ever since they met in Kirkwall during relief efforts.

There wasn’t any way to find out now, though, and so all Rylen had to go on was this animated version of Thedas. He continued on to find out more of what had happened as Abigail and Gabriela wandered into the kitchen to put together all of the food that had been prepared.

 

* * *

  
Abigail unlocked the door to their apartment, flipping on the light switch so that Rylen could enter behind her. He moved to the kitchen and set down the containers of food and the drinks that had been sent home with them. Gabriela had insisted that they take a good portion of the food with them, and Rylen had actually been incredibly grateful and excited by the prospect. It was absolutely delicious.

“Let’s get that in the fridge,” Abigail muttered, almost to herself. She began moving things to the refrigerator, and as soon as she was done Rylen swept her into his arms. A trickle of giggles met the action, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Happy to be home?”

“Aye, that too,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her. “But we spent all day hardly being able to touch - and I’m still getting used to caressing you as I’ve longed to.”

“Caress away,” she told him. “Are you doing all right? I know we were all having fun but I hope it wasn’t - at your expense. I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable -”

“No, lass, never uncomfortable. Not with you,” he assured her. “It was strange, to say the least. And perhaps made me a little homesick, or feel - like I left things unfinished. But I’m all right.”

“You can tell me if you aren’t,” she pointed out. “I want to make certain you know that. I’d never - think less of you, or anything like that. I know especially seeing Cullen must have been -”

“Aye, that was - difficult,” he confessed softly. As he said it though he began to take a few steps, slowly guiding her back toward the bed. “Less so with you beside me.”

“Mmm, true,” she agreed, her voice coming out as a soft sigh. “You know, I’m sure that made you feel like you missed a lot, or should have been there,” she mused as they reached the foot of the bed. “But if you want, I can show you just how wonderful it is that you ended up here. Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

“I like the sound of that, lass,” he purred. “I had a bizarre day, I could use some tender loving.”

“Tender loving it is then, stud,” she murmured, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth. “Take off your clothes and I’ll show you just how glad I am that you fell through that rift - because you changed my life.”

He held her face between his hands, staring down into the sparkling chocolate of her eyes. The soft smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him made his heart swell, erasing some of the feelings that had plagued him all day.

“Aye, lass - you changed mine as well,” he agreed.

The tiny smile on her face grew into a wide grin, and she pulled him down to her once more. “I love you, Ry,” she breathed, and the kiss that followed the words banished any doubt he had that he was right where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any inquiring minds - Rylen at least made it to the Hinterlands, probably pushed to Val Royeaux. Writing someone play a video game is...weird, though. He'll continue to explore the game over at Russ' sporadically, but for now they just spent a day figuring out video games and the very beginning of DA:I, chilling with friends.


	21. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music, especially for the second scene (mostly because it's what I was listening to as I wrote):[ "Call Out My Name" by The Weekend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4ZoCHID9GI).

Her heart was still racing, stomach filled with uncomfortable butterflies as she sat waiting at the conference table. It hadn’t even been a full week, spent sitting and waiting for it to all blow up in her face. John had seemed earnest, but he’d also walked into the apartment, had seen two wine glasses sitting beside a disheveled bed. For days now she had found herself unnerved when she had time to linger on what might happen.

Luckily she had Rylen to confide in during those quiet moments, to curl up with or make love to, distracting her and bolstering her spirits with his unwavering support and unconditional love. She could tell he was more suspicious than she was, but then again he didn’t know John as she once had.

Even though she didn’t fully trust his motives now, she found herself cautiously optimistic that he could be the man he once had been.

“Ah, I - hope you weren’t waiting long,” a deep voice interrupted her musings. Abby glanced up from where she had been staring absently at the folder sitting in front of her to see John walking into the conference room, followed closely by Henry.

“No, we simply arrived early,” Jessica answered for Abby. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yes, you as well,” John greeted. He caught Abby’s eye and nodded, almost solemnly, though a small smile pulled at his lips briefly. When he undid the button of his suit jacket to take his seat across from Abby, she noticed that his wedding band was still absent.

Somehow it felt like a subtle, unspoken commitment to everything he had said to her a few days before.

“Thank you for meeting with us so soon,” Jessica said.

“Of course,” John agreed with a nod. “I take it you were able to look over everything? Did it all look acceptable?”

“Yes,” Abby replied softly before Jessica could. It was an instinct, a sudden urge to say thank you overcoming her, but she buried it.

“Uh - yes, we went over everything, and it all looks more than agreeable to us,” Jessica continued, shooting Abby a glance out of the corner of her eye. “So long as your client,” she looked away from Henry and instead addressed John directly, “so long as you, John, are still intending to keep your word?”

“I am,” he assured Jessica firmly, but he held Abby’s gaze as he said it. “I meant every word I said.”

Abby maintained eye contact for a moment and then nodded as she looked down at the papers in front of them. Strange emotions were stirring within her - they weren’t longing, or melancholy. Instead it was almost like a sense of bittersweet nostalgia over the last few years of her life was gripping her until she was rendered speechless.

“Glad to hear you came to your senses,” Jessica quipped. “Well, then my client is ready to sign as well so that we can file with the court. I insisted we meet to make certain you weren’t planning anything, but also so that we could discuss how exactly the settlement was going to be processed -”

“I’ve already spoken to the judge, she owes me a favor,” John interrupted. “We should be able to expedite the settlement with her help. Possibly just three weeks, at the most.”

Abby glanced to Jessica, eyebrows raised, and noticed the lawyer looked just as surprised as she felt. For a moment they both sat absorbing the news, and then Jessica cleared her throat and sat forward. “You reached out to the judge to hurry the process along? I suppose - we weren’t expecting that sort of cooperation, after everything -”

“I - wanted to do what I can, considering,” John murmured. He was staring at where his hands were clasped on the conference table, frowning slightly before he looked back up. “I know I pulled some - well let’s be honest, I pulled some horrible shit. But I’d like to make it up now, if you’ll let me.”

“Just like that?” Jessica questioned, sounding even more skeptical than Abby had felt since he had come by the apartment.

“Yes,” John insisted. “I - I know that I have held Abby up in her quest to move on with her life. I wish to - speed things along for her now. Since we’ve signed a settlement agreement, we should be able to get it approved through the court quickly. So that she can - put this all behind her.”

Abby quirked an eyebrow, but when John met her gaze she was touched by the sincerity in his eyes and folded her arms. “So - what now, then?” she asked.

“We can discuss how best to divide the assets that we are,” John told her. “By that I mean - how you can retrieve them, how we’re handling splitting the settlement money. Having that to present to the court will help speed things along as well.”

“Excellent,” Jessica agreed. “Shall we?”

John nodded curtly, clearing his throat before he set to work going over a proposal. Abby watched as the three lawyers crafted the rest of the settlement agreement, occasionally stopping to ask her opinion, to make sure they were all still representing her best interests. It was such a change from the other meetings over the last several months, and she couldn’t tell if the feeling swelling in her chest was apprehension or excitement.

_I can be free - if everything goes to plan._

When they were finally done and a proposal had been agreed upon, they all began to push themselves away from the table. Abby stood and faced Henry and John, brows knitting together slightly as she met their gazes. “Thank you,” she told them. “I - I appreciate things being resolved.”

“Pleasure to be of service, Mrs. - Miss Henderson,” Henry told her, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Oh that’s right - Abby, we’ll need to put in paperwork for your name change,” Jessica told her. “I’ll get that paperwork drawn up so that it can go through as soon as you have the divorce decree in a few weeks.”

“Thank you, Jessica,” Abby said. She raised her gaze to John’s and held it for a moment before she inclined her head. “Th-thank you, John. Really. I appreciate it, after everything.”

A sad smile crossed his face. “I should have done it sooner,” he admitted. “But I’m glad at least to be doing it now, and - you’re welcome.”

Several beats of silence passed before Jessica simply nodded and then began to make her way to the door, Henry following. Abby glanced once more at John before she began to cross to the door herself.

“Ab-Abby, wait,” John called to her.

With a frown she turned to face him, waiting expectantly.

“Here, I - I made you a new key,” he told her, closing the distance between them and pulling a key from his pocket. “That way you can come and go as you please to get your things from the penthouse. I - again, I’m - sorry. I changed the locks in a moment of...weakness. I wanted to force you to talk to me -”

“It’s - um, I want to say it’s okay but really I just mean - stop apologizing,” Abby muttered as she accepted the key. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

He smiled and put his hands back in his pockets as he watched her. “I - I hope everything is to your liking? Everything with the settlement? I know we all kind of - went full lawyer with the negotiating, as you would put it. I hope we didn’t talk over you or steamroll -”

“No, John, it’s - better than I could have hoped,” she assured him. “I - I’m still surprised it’s all finally happening, to be honest, but,” she sighed, hating a bit that she had confessed that, “but I’m happy. With all of it.”

“Good, I’m glad,” he told her. “I want you to be happy, so please - if any of this starts to make you unhappy, tell me so I can fix it. Even in the days to come, I’ll - I’ll always take your calls to fix things so that you’re happy.”

Abby quirked an eyebrow at him. “That’s - quite the change,” she mused.

“I’ve always wanted you to be happy,” he murmured. “It just took me a long time to realize what that really meant for you, instead of my idea of what could make you happy.”

“I - see,” she commented after a few moments of thoughtful silence.

He contemplated his feet before he nodded his head. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do today,” he finally said. “As I said, if you ever need anything, please - don’t hesitate to ask. No matter what, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, John,” Abby told him. She gave him a small smile, scuffing one foot awkwardly for a moment before she nodded and turned on her heel. As she made her way through the offices she mused over the change in everything, in the fact that in three weeks - maybe less - she could be free, no longer having to deal with any of this.

And the settlement, the money she’d have, the house in Vermont, the items she wanted - life was about to start looking up. Then again, it had been looking up ever since the moment she and Rylen had finally confessed their feelings, had finally given in to wanting one another.

She smiled the whole way out onto the street, pausing once she reached the bustling sidewalk. An odd sense of happiness came over her - a happiness she hadn’t felt in so long, possibly years. She felt light, free as a bird - and she looked up and down the street as she soaked in the feeling.

A sign for a shop caught her eye, and she remembered one of her favorite things to do as a treat. It had been ages since she had been able to buy anything for herself, ages since she could indulge her love of feminine and delicate things. With a soft smile she crossed the street and headed for the shop.

As soon as she opened the door and walked in, a long forgotten sense of excitement overcame her. She didn’t want to rely too much on the money coming to her, considering she didn’t know when she’d receive it. But with Rylen’s promotion, and the fact that she’d been smiling more at work and making more tips, she was doing well enough that she could splurge. Just a little.

Her eye was immediately drawn to black lace, dark satin, and she ran her fingers over the pieces before she frowned and shook her head. She always wore black; he’d seen her in black since the first time - possibly even before that, since they lived in such close quarters.

No, black wouldn’t do.

Besides, she felt like something more delicate, something almost girly, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that urge. John had always wanted something dark, red or black, constricting and revealing. When she shopped for herself she preferred soft, feminine lace and colors that reminded her of something that could be found in a garden.

Meandering through the shop, she allowed herself to enjoy the beautiful pieces, to imagine what he might say about them. Finally she found a set that made her pause, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled the right size off the rack.

Abby smiled and looked them over, taking only a few moments to decide before she carried it to the counter.

 

* * *

 

The apartment smelled like the chicken tikka masala she was reheating, the naan wrapped in foil to keep it warm while she waited. For once, when she had come back from one of these meetings she was smiling, happy and carefree.

The sound of the key turning in the door made her smile widen, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she glanced over her shoulder to watch him walk into the apartment.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I brought home some dinner, and some wine, if you want. How was work?”

“The same as every day,” Rylen answered. He closed the door behind himself and then crossed to where she stood in the kitchen. Stopping behind her he wrapped his arms around her to pull her back against him. “I can’t tell what smells more delicious, supper or you.”

She giggled and leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest. When he pressed kisses to the spot beneath her ear a soft moan escaped her, enjoying the tickle of a few days’ scruff against her skin. “How about dinner first?” she suggested slightly breathlessly. “I’m starving, and want you to experience the amazingness that is Indian food.”

“I’ll open the wine,” he told her, and he pressed another kiss to her before he straightened. “How was your day?”

“Surprisingly good,” she answered cheerfully as she served their dinner out onto plates.

“Oh?”

“I - I should be divorced in three weeks or so,” she said, glancing at where he stood holding two glasses of wine. “John pulled some strings with the judge to try to get things resolved quickly. So maybe by the end of the month I’ll be - I’ll be free.”

“Lass, I - I’m glad, that sounds wonderful,” he said. But a slight frown quirked his brows as they took their seats as always.

“You don’t look like it’s wonderful,” she mused, taking a sip of wine.

“I suppose I’m surprised. I didn’t expect your man to keep his word,” he admitted. He shrugged and took a bite of his masala. He raised his eyebrows, gesturing his fork at his plate as he chewed.

“Good?” she asked with a smile.

“Excellent,” he answered after he swallowed. He picked up his wine and contemplated it for a moment. “I - I don’t suppose - that is to say, there isn’t anything he can do now to ruin the plans, is there?”

“Not really, it’s all been filed with the court. Jessica called me earlier to tell me that now we just need to wait for them to approve it,” Abby told him. “I know it’s hard to believe but - I think John really means it. He wasn’t always so bad, so - I’m prone to believe he really is trying to let me go.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he agreed after a moment.

“Oh, also - Connie asked for your number to pass along to Edward, I hope you don’t mind -”

“Aye, he called me earlier. I called him back when I had a chance,” Rylen answered. “Said he wanted to make certain I knew I was invited to his wedding?”

Abby giggled and nodded, swallowing before she answered. “I’d forgotten to say anything, Connie called me yesterday but I was so distracted it slipped my mind. They want us to come. It’s in Vermont at the end of the month.”

“Do you want to go?” he asked.

“I’d love to,” she told him. “And I think we should. Plus by then, things might be finalized, we could go see the house -”

“House?”

“Oh, right, um - I have a house, up in Vermont. We could make it a whole trip, go to the wedding, scope out the house,” she suggested, watching his face apprehensively.

“You have another house? I thought - why didn’t you move there?” he questioned, frowning as he sipped some more wine.

“It was both of ours, plus it would have been a hassle to be in Vermont during all of this. But it’s going to be mine, now,” she explained. “Or…” she trailed off as she thought the word _‘ours’_ but shook her head.

“Or?” he prompted.

“I just - I mean, if I decide to keep it,” she told him with a shrug, evading the real answer she wanted to give.

“Vermont, that’s - one of the other states, right?” he asked, and at her nod he stared down at his plate, considering. “So you would be - leaving after the divorce?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” she answered slowly. “I haven’t thought that far ahead, I mean - it’s all going to be happening sooner than I thought now. I need time to - figure things out.”

“I see,” he said softly, taking a pensive sip of wine.

“Ry?”

“Hm?”

“You know that - um,” she paused and considered for a moment how to phrase it. “You know that I think of us as - together, right? I’m not - I’m not going to just pick up and leave you. I promise.”

The smile that crossed his face at the words hinted at the fact that for a moment he must have doubted. But he took her fingers in his and squeezed gently. “Aye, lass,” he said. “So, a - wedding? And trip? What about - how do you handle that with work, here?”

“Oh, I’ll get you the dates so you can ask your site manager - Hank, right? Hopefully he’ll let you off,” she mused. She pushed her food around a bit more with her fork, thinking hard. The suggestion to see the house had been spontaneous, but she realized they’d be near enough they might as well take the time. Now instead she felt like she’d opened up too many ideas, and all she really wanted was to enjoy their evening together.

She shifted on the stool, running her fingers under the neckline of her shirt to adjust the soft, lacy strap on her shoulder. With a smile she looked back at Rylen and changed the subject.

After dinner they sat longer on the stools, talking and drinking wine. When Rylen finally suggested moving to the bed she bit her lip and nodded.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he told her, pushing himself to his feet and picking up their plates. For a moment she watched him moving about the small kitchen, and then she slid off the stool.

Once inside the bathroom she took a moment to look in the mirror, fixing her hair and smiling as she did. She felt giddy, like it was the first time, or a special occasion. In a way she felt like it was. The good news she’d had that day made her feel like celebrating.

Together.

Stripping out of her t-shirt and jeans she threw them aside and then turned so that she could check each piece to make certain it all had the effect she wanted. She straightened the straps and some of the lace, and then took a deep breath.

She couldn’t tell if it was nerves or excitement that made her heart race and her fingers tremble. Honestly there was little reason to doubt he would like it. She could probably wear a burlap sack and he would still ravish her like he had every time they had been together so far.

When she opened the bathroom door she noticed that he had turned most of the lights off, leaving on the small lamp they had moved beside the bed so that they didn’t have to get back up to turn the lights off. He was lounging on the bed, reading the new history book on Sparta and Ancient Greece he had gotten, but when he heard the door open he looked up.

And she was fairly certain his jaw actually dropped.

“I - uh, lass, you look - absolutely beautiful,” he said after a moment. He threw the book aside and sat up, crooking his finger to encourage her to the bed. She knelt on the mattress and crawled toward him, and he slid a hand down her back before he kissed her lightly. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“I was just passing by the shop and thought I’d peek in,” she murmured. “Plus I wasn’t certain how much sexy lingerie you’ve seen before.”

“Nothing like this,” he said. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her to lay beside him so that he could begin kissing her, one hand roaming over her as he did. Occasionally he released the kiss to glance down and take in the sight of her.

The lingerie she had decided on was a soft, dusty rose in color and lace all over, with a bit of the lace continuing up to delicately frame the neckline of the cups. Where the sheer cups met between her breasts was adorned with a rosy satin bow, the long, skinny ends of the ribbon hanging down over her belly. The panties were the same dusty rose lace, and the sides tied on the hips like bikini bottoms with the same long, satin ribbon.

Rylen’s kiss was nearly suffocating, and his fingers wandered over her, sliding beneath the lace and gripping her almost roughly in his impatience. He quickly yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside before he continued his overeager caresses.

She wanted to enjoy it, though, feeling an urge to savor and tease him with what she was wearing, not put it on so that he could simply tear it right off of her.

When she pushed lightly at his chest he leaned back and peered down at her, but before he could ask her anything she gripped his shoulders and guided him back onto the pillows. After a moment of rolling and adjusting, she ended up on top of him. He smiled and ran his hands over her, again sliding his fingers under the lace. She was briefly distracted, enjoying the way his rough hands moved so familiarly over her breasts, but then she reached for his belt.

Pulling it off she bit her lower lip and held his inquisitive gaze for a long moment. “Trust me?” she murmured.

“Aye, lass, of course,” he answered without hesitation.

Abby grabbed his wrists and looped the belt around them before she also looped it about one of the posts. When it was secure she glanced down at him, only to find him smirking with an eyebrow quirked. “You were being too handsy,” she teased.

“Oh? Apologies, lass - I just couldn’t resist the look of you in that,” he told her. “I see you and I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

“And while normally I appreciate that,” she purred, stretching over him to tug his bottom lip between her teeth. “Right now I have other things I want to do.”

“I like the sound of that,” he said, breath catching as she ran her tongue down the side of his neck.

She pressed kisses to his collarbone, his shoulders, his chest, enjoying the feeling of his hot skin against her lips. When she reached the tattoo that graced his chest she flicked her tongue out, and then began to trace its lines with kisses and her tongue. His breathing became more shallow, and when she glanced up at him she saw him watching her eagerly, lips parted and brows furrowed.

Shifting above him she continued lower, still pressing kisses down his stomach as it flexed beneath her attentions. The dark trail of hair beneath his navel excited her, and she spent several long moments following where it led with her kisses. Her fingers worked eagerly at the button of his jeans, undoing them and sliding them off so that he was freed.

Taking him in one hand she slowly slid her hand up and down his cock, twisting her hand as she greedily kissed his hot skin, getting closer and closer to what she wanted. He was moaning, breaths sounding ragged as he watched her.

When she dragged her tongue all the way up the length of his hard cock he groaned, eyes shutting as his head fell back on the pillows. She swirled her tongue around the tip, still stroking him slowly with her hand, and then took him into her mouth. The way he writhed beneath her as she sucked gently at him only encouraged her.

Soon she was sliding him in and out of her mouth more quickly, occasionally slowing to tease and suck more intently at him. The feeling of him smooth against her tongue was wonderful, and she continued bobbing her head as she watched him strain against the belt around his wrists. She coated him with her saliva, sliding her hand over him to spread it to ease her caresses and mouth on him. Slowly she moved her mouth down his length, managing to take him down her throat before she pulled away. Something almost like a growl met the action, and his hips bucked lightly against her.

When she repeated the motion, a deep moan greeted her as his knee bent beside her. “Maker, lass,” he gasped, his wrists twisting against his belt, “if you’re not careful, I’m going to break the bed or my belt.”

“Is that so?” she murmured before dragging her tongue up his length once more. Reaching the tip she flicked her tongue across his slit, licking the salty beads of excitement that were leaking in response to her attentions. She took the tip of him between her lips once more and sucked hard at him as she twisted her hand up and down him. “So then - you want more?” she asked once she had let him fall out of her mouth with a pop.

The look in his eyes when he met hers sent shivers through her, the usual aqua smoky with desire. “Undo this restraint and I’ll show you how much I want,” he growled.

For a moment she held his gaze, breathless as she took in the intensity with which he was watching her. But she was wet and longing to feel him within her, as much as she was enjoying the sensations of him in her mouth. After considering she knelt above him and reached for the belt to undo it.

As soon as his wrists were freed he grabbed her and nearly tackled her to the bed, devouring her with a kiss as he pinned her. With one hand he hooked his fingers in the panties she wore and merely pulled them to the side as he took his place between her legs.

Rylen barely hesitated a moment before he slid himself within her, causing her to throw her head back on the bed with a loud cry. He immediately began thrusting into her, purring praise in her ear between grunts and moans. “There’s a good lass - did you enjoy my cock in your mouth? You’re already so close, Abigail, I can feel it. Is this what you wanted, love? You wanted me to take you like this, until you can’t stand it anymore?”

“Ry, fuck - please, you’re so - I want - yes, I want you,” she gasped, trying to keep up with all of the sensations crashing over her. She could hardly focus on anything except the feeling of him within her, the way he was rolling and jerking his hips into her. He moved with such an intense, raw passion she almost thought she would pass out.

He used his fingers against her clit to coax her to a screaming release, her whole body convulsing and arching beneath him as she lost herself. A moment later he jerked into her more roughly before he stilled, his panting breaths against her ear all that she could register happening around her. They were both slick with sweat, almost gasping for air as he went limp onto her, pressing her into the mattress.

“Oh my god, Ry, that was - I can’t - put into words how amazing you are,” she murmured. “Every time. Fuck,” she rubbed her forehead and then clung more tightly to him, “I love you.”

“I’ve never met a lass like you,” he breathed against her ear. He nuzzled into her hair and then finally raised his head so he could peer down at her. “And any time you feel like making me appreciate the lingerie you bought, feel free, lass. That was - perfect.”

She giggled and ran her hands through his wavy hair, taking in the way he was smiling at her.

“I promise,” she told him. “Glad you enjoyed it all. I wasn’t sure if any of that was - a thing for you, considering I didn’t know what was standard in Thedas for lingerie or -”

“Lass, you look beautiful,” he insisted, and he pressed a kiss to her. “Give me just a little bit of time and then maybe I can show you again just how beautiful you are.”

“Mmm, yes please,” she agreed, smiling up into his face. ”That sounds wonderful.”

“I’m yours, Abigail,” he said suddenly, brushing some hair off of her face before he smiled softly. “I hope you know that. No matter how everything goes, I’m - I’m here. I’m yours.”

Her heart swelled, but she couldn’t form the words to tell him how that made her feel, or to assure him that she felt the same.

And so she kissed him, hoping that he would understand from the way her lips moved against his that he was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever dreamed.


	22. On the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest - we've reached the smut and fluff portion of this fic. It isn't over by any means, there's still plenty to cover, but the plot is going to be far looser and just sort of WHEEEEE with floof and smut moving forward. These two deserve some happiness and I definitely want to write it for them.
> 
> Cool? Cool.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

Rylen slung the bag over his shoulder, looking around to make certain they had turned all of the lights off. It was almost odd how instinctive that had become to him, but here he was making certain he hadn’t forgotten any of the electrical lamps.

“Got everything?” Abigail asked, and he noticed her hurrying quickly around the apartment as she grabbed her purse and checked it for her phone.

“Aye, lass - why the hurry?” he questioned, absently patting his pockets for the wallet and phone he always carried with him. He took a moment to make certain he had the small pocket knife he had bought as well after he saw Bruno with one.

“I’m parked sort of illegally,” she confessed. “Don’t want to get towed or ticketed while we’re loading up.”

He had become familiar with the concept, since the site occasionally had cars block the gates, entrances, or parking for the other workers. With a quirked brow he looked around the apartment one last time. “You have all your things?” he asked.

She nodded, zipping her purse. Before she could sling it over her shoulder, Rylen stepped forward and bent his knees, wrapping his arm around her thighs as he hoisted her over his shoulder. A playful shriek and giggles met the action, and she laughed as he swung her around and headed for the door.

“You were taking too long,” he explained as he stepped out into the hall. He locked the door behind them, chuckling to himself at the continued giggles and lighthearted protests she was making.

“Uncouth! Barbarian! Neanderthal!” she teased. “Dirty Avvar!”

“The Avvar are a fascinating, complex society, lass,” he corrected. “How was that supposed to be an insult?”

“I just realized maybe you didn’t know what a Barbarian or Neanderthal was,” came her slightly muffled answer.

He laughed. “I’ll look them up later,” he told her as he walked down the stairs. “How long is this trip again?”

“Almost four and a half hours, but with a stop or two a little longer,” she told him. “Although traffic could be awful and make it take forever, who knows - just leaving the city will probably be a pain in the ass.”

He chuckled as he finished making his way down the stairs, and at her words he landed a powerful slap to her rear. The yelp and soft moan that greeted the action made him smirk, and he finally lowered her to her feet before the building’s exit. She glanced up at him, a gleam in her eyes as she met his gaze, but then she smiled and turned to lead the way out of the building.

How many weeks had passed in bliss now? He watched as she pointed out a small silver car parked in front of what she’d called a fire - hydra? No that wasn’t right, he never could remember the word - but he followed and waited for her to unlock the doors so he could throw his bag in the back.

He took his place in the seat on the right in the front, watching as she took hers beside him and pulled her seatbelt on. He’d ridden with her in the back of taxis but never in the front like this, or with her driving. Suddenly he frowned.

“Did you - I realized I didn’t ask, did you get this car from John as well?” he asked.

She giggled and shook her head, turning the car on so that it almost seemed to purr to life. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as cars drove by. “No, rented it,” she told him. “I haven’t driven in forever, there’s not much use around the city. It always made me laugh that John wanted to drive everywhere - it takes forever and is so stressful.”

Rylen watched as she began to pull levers and turn the wheel in front of her, trying to ease out of the spot the car had been stopped in. She shook her head and laughed as if exasperated a few times, muttering curses under her breath. Once she had pulled out onto the road he felt it safe to ask her the question he wanted to. “Is driving there faster than one of those - pla-planes you told me about?”

“In this case maybe,” she answered, eyes fixed to the road. “Just because of how long you have to be at the airport before, and then waiting for bags after. But we couldn’t have taken a plane anyway, so at least it’s a short drive.”

“We couldn’t have? Do they not fly to this state?” he asked.

“They do but - _you_ can’t fly,” she told him. “At least not yet. You don’t have any IDs or anything.”

He remembered when she had lied to get into that loud tavern the first night they spent time with Russell, and he frowned. “You need those to travel?”

“Yeah, people have done shitty stuff with planes, it’s a safety thing,” she told him.

“Oh, right, the - I remember now,” he said, thinking of one of the things that had confused him in his reading of the history books he kept making his way through that he’d had to ask her about. “How can I get those? I looked up planes once and they seem fascinating - flying in a metal contraption through the sky. I’d like to try.”

“I - hm,” she hummed for a moment, looking over her shoulder again so that she could pull into another lane of the road. “You know that’s going to be - tricky. I mean we really should, but it’s - not even like you’re an illegal from another country, I mean you have - _zero_ documents at all. I’ll - have to think about that.”

“Would it mean telling someone?” he asked, frowning as he looked out the window at the passing city.

“Maybe?” she mused. “I honestly have no idea. I mean I’ve thought about it, now that I’m - um. Yeah I’ve thought about what we should do, just not sure how exactly to get it done...”

He glanced aside at her, wondering at the way she had trailed off. Now that she what? He thought that perhaps it had to do with her divorce being finalized, thinking perhaps she meant for them to move or travel, now that she wasn’t having to deal with that. They had talked a bit about what they would do next, but also had simply enjoyed the last few weeks of nothing hanging over their heads.

Absolute bliss, that was all, now that they could finally show each other love.

Now he sat beside her, watching as she drove, admiring the look of her thin fingers on the wheel and the cute frown of concentration on her face as she navigated. As they made their way through the city he watched the sights that he could see, recognizing some he’d seen before, some he’d read about or seen in pictures. A few she pointed out as they passed, but she mostly focused on driving, seeming slightly nervous.

When he reached over for one of her hands at a stop, she shot him a grateful smile and a wink. “Just out of practice,” she told him.

“I should learn to drive,” he suggested, squeezing her fingers as the light turned green, which she had told him once meant it was her turn to go.

She giggled. “That I would love to see,” she said. “There will be some quiet, open roads in Vermont near the house, maybe we can try it out while we’re there.”

“How safe is traveling on roads, lass?” he asked after several more moments spent looking out the window.

“You mostly have to watch out for other drivers being idiots,” she answered. “How was - how was traveling in Thedas? I mean you guys used horses and carriages and stuff right?”

“Oh, aye - if you had access, certainly,” he explained. “But any way you traveled you had to watch out for bandits, wildlife, other dangers I’m assuming aren’t - much of an issue here?”

“Not really,” Abigail said with a slight shrug. “I mean we’re moving too fast for someone to rob us, but you have to be careful when you stop. It just takes being aware, really. Not nearly as bad as Thedas seemed to be.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he watched the city fall behind them. The space around them began to open up, less buildings surrounding the road, and Rylen took in the new sights. It was the first time he was leaving the city, and he found himself eager to see what else was out in the world.

“Finally,” Abigail mumbled, and she reached to some of the smaller dials near a display screen. Fidgeting a bit with that and her phone she smiled as a song began to play. “Well, now that we’re out of some of the worst traffic I can treat you to everything that comes with a road trip. Music, junk food, getting lost.”

He smirked as she giggled, marveling at the sight of her so happy still. She sang along to the song she had put on, but when it ended she passed him her phone. “Have you had to use maps yet?”

“I - lass, I know how to read a map,” he assured her.

She shot him a playful pout, her nose scrunched as it always did, and then gestured to her phone. “It’s an app,” she explained. “I set our route, but if you’d like to figure out the app I can explain it as we go. It’ll be useful, I think you’ll like it.”

He nodded and listened as she began to explain things, eyes still fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel. She looked so relaxed, and he tried not to get distracted as she explained how to use the ‘program’ on her phone. It seemed easy enough, once he started looking at it, and he spent some time fiddling with it while she listened to music and sang along.

As they continued further along, he found himself watching the scenery out the windows, thinking that this looked a bit more like areas around Thedas - more trees, less dense settlements of large buildings. They still passed through cities and towns along the road, but none nearly as spectacular as New York.

He watched the countryside pass by, listening to Abigail sing love songs and talk about the areas they passed, and found that he rather liked Earth road trips.

 

* * *

 

Their destination seemed like a castle, or at the very least a great manor. As Abigail pulled the car into the drive Rylen leaned forward slightly to look through the glass affixed to the front of the car - the windshield, she had called it. She turned the car off and removed the key before looking his way, smiling brightly.

“Let’s grab the bags and check in, we should have enough time to get changed before the rehearsal dinner,” she said as she opened the door.

“And that is the - just the dinner the night before a wedding, right?” he asked, trying to remember everything she had explained.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, and closed the door after she’d gotten out.

He opened his door as well, stepping out of the small car to unfold himself and stretch. The long drive had his knees stiff, even though they’d taken a break at a place called a “rest stop” to stretch their legs. All he could think was that his withdrawals might be acting up again, and he found himself thankful they had packed ibuprofen.

“Doing all right?” she asked as she pulled the large suitcase they had packed together out of the back compartment of the car.

“Aye, just stiff,” he assured her. He got his smaller bag out and reached for the suitcase as well.

“Good evening, sir, ma’am,” a voice greeted from behind them. Rylen turned to see a young man standing beside them, an eager smile on his face.

“Hi,” Abigail greeted, and she closed the back of the car and circled to stand beside Rylen. “Checking in, do you guys - valet?”

“Yes, of course,” the young man said, and he led them to a small stand near a door. “Last name?”

“Henderson,” she told him. “First name Abigail.”

“Wonderful,” the young man said, scribbling something. He handed a small slip of paper to her and she exchanged it for her keys. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

Abigail giggled and gestured at Rylen behind her. “No, we’ve got it,” she told him, and she winked at Rylen. The young man held the front door open for them, bowing slightly as they passed him to enter, Rylen inclining his head in return.

The inside was vast, dark wood and beautiful furnishings lining the entrance hall. Abigail led him to a counter behind which a man in a dark suit was waiting to greet them. Rylen stared around them as she spoke with the man, listening only vaguely to the conversation as she handled getting them to their room.

It was interesting to him, that a place this grand existed for people to simply come and stay for a time. They had talked about the difference, that in Thedas inns were places you used for travel, just to rest for the night if you could afford it. Only nobles really traveled to simply visit new places, and they almost always stayed with other nobles they knew. This concept of a vacation was new to him, but he found himself excited for it. A few days without work, a celebration of their friends’ union, and then time alone in a house she had said was several miles away from anyone else - he was looking forward to all of it.

Once Abigail had the keys, she thanked the man and led Rylen through the halls to their room. Upon opening the door they walked inside, both looking around with wide eyes. The same wood adorned the fireplace in the room, the floors, and furniture as well. The walls were a dark wine color, and the lamps that were on cast everything in a yellow light as if they were flames instead of electric.

Abigail walked slowly through the small sitting room they were in, passing through a door into another, and he left the suitcases and followed. It was a large bedroom, with a wooden four poster bed in the middle and another fireplace along one wall.

“Wow,” Abigail murmured. “I knew this place would be nice but - this is _really_ nice.”

“Is this standard?” Rylen asked, walking around and taking in the luxurious furnishings.

“For a place like this, yeah,” she answered. “I mean this is a resort, so it’s nicer than say a motel, which are way cheaper. But a place like this is usually really nice, I just - I kind of like it. It’s rustic, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

Rylen smirked and shook his head. “I feel like a blasted noble in Val Royeaux,” he muttered.

She giggled and crossed the room to yet another door, peeking her head in. “Ooh, big shower and tub - that’ll be fun.” When she turned back to face him she winked, biting her lower lip before she made her way back to their bags. “We should unpack so things don’t wrinkle, but then I think we need to get ready. The cocktail hour starts soon.”

They moved their suitcases to the bedroom, removing the fine clothes they had brought with them for the events that weekend. Abigail had taken him to buy more formal attire, now that they finally had the money and because she said it was about time he had some. He hung the suits and shirts beside her dresses in the wardrobe, smiling slightly to himself at the sight of them side by side.

It looked right.

Abigail began to strip out of her clothes, wandering around the bedroom gathering what she needed to get ready in only her under things. After spending so long talking and teasing one another in the car, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her bare skin, the way the black lace cupped her breasts. When she caught him watching her she giggled.

“Lech,” she teased.

“You’re a beautiful sight, lass,” he told her. “Can you blame me?”

She bit her lip again and turned away, but his eyes dipped lower to the round cheeks of her rear when she did. He slowly stalked forward, catching her with an arm around her waist before she could disappear into the bathroom.

“Ry,” she gasped, but the protest slipped into a moan as he caught her earlobe between her teeth. “We need - I need to -”

“I need you,” he murmured in her ear, and he noticed her breathing quicken at the words. “We can spare a few moments - you look so tempting, Abigail.”

A soft whimper slipped from her throat, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. He hadn’t even really touched her, or kissed her, but she was leaning back against him as if she was weak in the knees.

“I think you need me, too,” he breathed in her ear, and the hand that was resting on the arm he had around her waist tightened its grip. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“I - Ry, say that again,” she requested breathlessly.

“Say what again? Love?” he asked, and she nodded her head rapidly. A glance at her face showed her eyes closed, and she was still worrying her lip with her teeth. “Do you like it when I call you my love? My lass? Or when I tell you I love you, Abigail?”

“Y-yes,” she softly whispered. “I - I love it when you say anything.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, taking in the way she was relying on him to hold her up, head lolling slightly against his chest. Sliding his free hand down her stomach he slipped it under the lace of her underwear until he stroked a finger between her folds.

“You’re so wet, lass,” he murmured, slightly surprised to find just how aroused she already was. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“I was listening to you talk all day,” she answered, her words coming out in a whispered rush as if she was confessing despite herself. “Teasing me, telling stories, I - I -”

“You what, lass? Tell me,” he purred.

“Your voice drives me crazy,” she confessed, and she trembled slightly as he focused more attention with his fingers between her legs.

“My voice?” he repeated, and he smirked at the way she gave a few jerky nods as she moaned. “You like it when I talk to you? Like this, in your ear - the things I say when I want you? When I tell you I love you?”

She mewled softly, holding tightly to the arm around her waist as if she was clinging to it for dear life. “Yes,” she breathed. “It makes me so wet - thinking about how you sound when you’re inside me.”

“Do you want to hear it?” he asked, and she whimpered for a moment as he continued teasing her pearl with his fingers. “Tell me, lass. Do you want to hear it? Do you want me to take you and tell you how good you feel around my cock, how much I love fucking you -”

“We - we don’t have time,” she tried to protest, but he backed her slowly to the bed and guided her onto it. “Ry we have - we have to get dressed -”

“No, lass,” he murmured as he fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans so that he could free himself. “We’ll make time. I can’t leave you desperate like this -”

“ - Ry -”

“You’re dripping, Abigail,” he told her, watching the way she writhed as he curled two fingers inside of her. “Do you want me?”

She moaned, eyes still clenched tight, but she rolled her hips against his fingers for a moment. He pulled his hand away, leaning over to press his lips to her ear as he used a hand to slide her underwear down.

“Tell me, lass.”

“I - I want you to,” she finally gasped, parting her thighs after she’d kicked her underwear off.

He smirked against her ear as he slowly slid into her, groaning loudly so that she could hear just how much he enjoyed her. “You feel wonderful, Abigail,” he purred. “I love this, I love taking you and watching you desperate for me until you lose yourself. Feel how hard I am, lass? How wild you make me?”

“I - I do, I - fuck, Ry, keep talking,” she begged. Her nails were digging into his back, and he could already feel her throbbing around him with each thrust. When he touched her again she gasped, little cries meeting his movements.

“Were you thinking about this all day? How much you wanted me to fuck you, to whisper in your ear while I did?” he continued. “To hear me tell you what a good lass you are, that you take me so well? Will you be a good lass and come for me?”

She nodded, gasping as she rolled her hips back into his as she tried desperately to respond.

“Then be a good lass and come, Abigail. I want you to come for me, and be loud about it,” he encouraged.

Her thighs tightened on either side of his hips, neck arching as her nails dug even deeper into his back. A loud sob of his name and several gasping, whimpering cries were pulled from her throat. He slowed slightly, watching her face as she fell apart beneath him.

“Good lass,” he praised her again as she quieted, and he resumed his deep thrusts. “Such a good lass, coming for me.”

She moaned and held him more tightly, opening her eyes to peer up at him with a soft pout. Each thrust still brought a little mewl, but she moved to match his rhythm and he knew she was trying to coax his release from him.

Gripping her hip he jerked into her, thrusting roughly and almost growling each time he did. She watched him eagerly, and he could still feel her clenching around him as if still coming down from her ecstasy. When he came he let himself roar with satisfaction, holding her gaze and enjoying the smile that came across her face as she listened to him finish.

Relaxing on top of her he took a few breaths, trying to regather his senses and let the fast pace of his heart slow. He pressed a few kisses to her cheek, trailing his lips lower to kiss her neck.

“We - we still need to get ready,” she finally murmured with a sigh.

He chuckled and pushed himself up. “I’d say it was worth it,” he told her. “You truly like my voice that much?”

She pressed her lips together, avoiding his gaze for a moment before she nodded. Giving him a furtive look, she smiled sheepishly. “It’s - a great voice,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t help it, it turns me on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, lass,” he said, and he winked as he pulled himself from her.

They both took a moment to try to steady themselves on their feet, and he smirked when he noticed the shaky way she walked to the bathroom. He stripped out of the rest of his clothes as she began to redo her hair and makeup. Once he’d dressed himself in the suit she’d bought for him he wandered into the bathroom.

“Can you do the buttons back there for me?” she asked, presenting her back to him.

He took a moment to lightly caress her back, his fingers tenderly brushing along her skin before he moved them to the button at the top of her dress. The dress was open-backed with black beads in intricate designs that covered her shoulder blades and framed the rest of her back. The tight material was hugging her curves and catching the light in tantalizing ways, and he almost found himself struggling with the urge to pull her back into bed again. Instead he did the buttons on the back of her neck, leaning down to press a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

“I bet I smell like sex,” she muttered, and she winked when he caught her eye in the mirror.

“Good,” he told her softly, wrapping his arms around the front of her to pull her back against him. “I can finally be open about you being mine - the idea of you walking around smelling like I made love to you doesn’t sound half bad, if I’m being honest.”

She giggled and relaxed into his embrace, smiling at him in the mirror. “I am yours,” she said, sighing contentedly.

“And I’m yours,” he promised, leaning down to turn her face so that he could kiss her deeply. When he pulled away he smiled. “Now let’s go so I can show you off to everyone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I made you all a playlist! Songs will be added as they come up, and I'll also be adding ones that remind me of Abigail and Rylen and that I listen to while working on this fic. So have a listen if you're so inclined!
> 
> ["Just Like Heaven" Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/bg752eq1tq2qzlw7kxwkkweka/playlist/0SiCB2Z2wcK5VJkvwvrLUZ)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wicked Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015434) by [LarasLandlockedBlues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues)
  * [Shattered Souls & Weary Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170306) by [thunderscape7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderscape7/pseuds/thunderscape7)




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